Hit 

:jk 

f 


>.  THE 

\      LIFE,  TRIAL  AND  COiNVERSATiONS 


OF 


ROBERT  EMMET,  ESQ. 

Hea^icc  of  iijt  Xrisi)  KnsuiTection  of  1803: 

ALSO,   THE 

CELEBilATED    SPEECH 

MADE    BY    HIM    ON    THK    OCCASION. 


t)  breitUie  not  liis  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade, 
Where  cold  and  uuhonoured  his  relics  are  laid  ;  * 
tSad,  silent,  and  ilark  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  nisht  dew  that  lulls  un  the  grass  o'er  his,  head 
•But  the  night  dew  that  falls,  lliough  in  silence  it  weeps 
Sshall  brighten  Avith  vcrJure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps 
iVnd  the  tear  that  we  stied,  though  in  se'cret  it  rolls, 
t?hall  lung  Keep  his  memory'  green  in  our  souls. — MooBi 


Scereotijped  from  the  last  Dublin  Edition. 


NEW-YOr.K: 

PUBLISHED   BY  KOBERT  CDDDI^GTON 

No,  -sea  BowEUY. 

J  850. 


2825 


THE  UNINSCRIBED  TOME  OF  EMMET. 


*'  Let  my  touib  remaiu  uniuscribed,    and  my   memory   in   oblivion, 
until  other  times  ayd  other  men  can  do  justice  to  my  character." 


<*  Pray  tell  me,"  I  said,  to  an  old  man  who  straj''d. 
Drooping  over  the  grave  which  his  own  hands  had  made, 
"  Pray  tell  me  the  name  of  the  tenant  who  sleeps 
'Neath  yonder  lone  shade  where  the  sad  willow  weeps  ; 
Every  stone  is  engrav'd  with  the  name  of  the  dead. 
But  yon  black  slab  declares  not  whose  spirit  is  fled." 

In  silence  he  bow'd,  then  beckon'd  me  nigh. 

Till  we  stood  o'er  the  grave — tlien  he  said  with  a  sigh, 

*'  Yes,  they  dare  not  to  trace  e'en  a  word  on  this  stone, 

To  the  memory  of  him  who  sleeps  coldly  alone  ; 

He  told  them — commanded — the  lines  o'er  his  grave, 

Should  never  be  traced  by  the  hand  of  a  slave  ! 

'*'  He  bade  them  to  shade  e'en  his  name  in  the  gloom. 
Till  the  morning  of  freedom  should  shine  on  his  tomb, 
*  When  the  flag  of  my  country  at  liberty  flies, 
Then— then  let  my  name  and  my  monument  rise.' 
You  see  they  obey'd  him — 'tis  thirty-three  years, 
And  they  still  come  to  moisten  his  grave  with  their  tears. 

*'  He  was  young  like  yourself,  and  aspir'd  to  o'erthrow 
The  tyrants  who  fill'd  his  lov'd  island  with  woe ; 
They  crush'd  his  bold  spirit — this  earth  was  confined. 
Too  scant  for  the  range  of  his  luminous  mind." 
He  paus'd,  and  the  old  man  went  slowly  away. 
And  I  felt,  as  lie  left  me,  an  impulse  to  pray. 

Grant,  Heaven  I  I  may  see,  ere  my  own  days  are  dene, 
A  monumeni-rise  o'er  my  country's  lost  son  ! 
And  oh  !  proudest  task,  be  it  mine  to  indite 
The  long-delay'd  tribute  a  freeman  must  write; 
'Till  then  shall  its  theme  in  my  breast  deeply  dwell,' 
*io  peace  to  thy  slnmbers,  dear  shade,  fare  thee  well  f 


THE 


LIFE  AND  CONVERSATIONS 


OF 


ROBERT  EMMET,  ESQ. 


There  are  few  persons  whose  name  has  been 
so  hailed  by  the  young  and  ardent,  whose  firm- 
ness and  patriotism  has  been  more  admired,  and 
whose  character  has  produced  a  greater  effect 
upon  society,  than  the  subject  of  these  pages. 

Robert  Emmet  was  born  in  Dublin,  in  the 
year  1782,  and  was  the  son  of  Dr.  Emmet,  for 
many  years  state  physician  in  Dublin.  He  was 
the  youngest  brother  of  Thomas  Addis  E^miet, 
who,  before  the  rebellion  of  1798,  had  abandoned 
a  respectable  situation  at  the  Irish  Bar,  in  order 
to  project  and  carry  into  execution,  the  schemes 
of  that  day,  for  an  Irish  Republic,  and  of  course, 
separation  from  Great  Britain. 

Emmet  was  moulded  in  Nature's  happiest 
form  for  his  destined  service.  He  possessed  the 
physical  qualities  n^scessary  for  an  accomplished 

1* 


speaker,  with  high  intellect  to  master  and  employ 
knowledge,  with  imagination  and  feelings  to 
sway  the  passions  and  command  the  heart ;  with 
the  power  of  incessant  lp.bour  to  collect,  discir 
pline,  and  perfect  the  valued  materials  of  a  re\^o- 
lutionary  measure,  he  was  eminently  calculated 
for  the  task  which  he  had  undertaken.  And, 
had  success  depended  upon  the  worth  and  the 
virtues  of  one  man,  Emmet  would  now  have 
been  hai-led  as  the  liberator  of  his  country. 

Early  impressions  are  always  the  most  lasting. 
Emmet  had  his  young  mind  filled  with  a  detes- 
tation of  tyranny  and  injustice  at  an  early  ao-e, 
by  the  virtue  and  patriotism  of  his  private  tutor' 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Lewes,  who,  though  a  minister  of 
the  Established  Church,  was  yet  an  enemy  to 
its  monopolizing  power  and  persecuting  spirit 
towards  his  Catholic  fellow-subjects. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  entered  Trinity  Col- 
lege.  Here  his  progress  in  classical  and  mathe* 
matical  knowledge  soon  gained  him  honour  and 
reputation.  But  his  heated  spirit^'had  been 
worked  up  by  the  political  enthusiasm  in  which 
he  had  been  early  initiated.  At  the  Historical 
Society,  of  which  he  was  a  member,  he  expressed 
his  sentiments  so  freely  on  English  influence  in 
Ireland,  that  he  came  under  the  suspicions  of 
Lord  Chancellor  Clare,  who  ultimately  expelled 
him  from  College,  for  denouncing,  in  a  speech 
he  made,  the  English  form  of  government,  and 
advocating  that  of  a  republic. 

He  had  been  sufliciently  unguarded  in  his 
conduct,  while  the  disturbances  of  '98  existed, 
to  become  an  object  of  the  vigilance  of  govern- 


^ent,  and  had  found  it  prudent  to  reside  abroad 
so  long  as  the  habeas  corpus  act  was  suspended. 
He  fled  to  the  Co.atinent,  where  an  active  cor- 
respondence .was  set  on  foot  bj'-  the  French 
government.  Emmet,  with  the  chiefs  of  the 
preceding  Irish  Rebellion  were  summoned  to 
Paris.  Consultations  were  held  with  them,  and 
the  organization  of  another  revolution  was  com- 
menced and  prosecuted  with  increasing  dili- 
gence. Nor  was  the  then  ruler  of  France, 
(Buonaparte)  inattentive,  or  remiss  to  forward, 
by  every  means,  in  his  power,  thie  project.  To 
Emmet  was  delegated  the  office  of  director  and 
mover  of  this  aew  attempt  upon  the  British 
dominion  in  Ireland. 

On  the  expiration  of  the  habeas  corpus  act, 
he  returned  to  Dublin,  but  thought  it  prudent, 
for  the  forwarding  of  the  revolution,  to  live  pri- 
vately. He  took  obscure  lodgings  at  Harold's 
iCross,  under  the  assumed  name  ofHewit.  Here 
he  held  his  meetings  with  his  associates.  These 
people  hailed  with  transport  the  oppportunity 
of  recommencing  another  attempt  on  subverting 
British  power  in  Ireland  !  and  while  some  spread 
themselves  over  the  country  in  every  direction, 
others  fixed  themselves  in  the  metropolis. 

During  the  first  four  months  after  Emmet's 
arrival,  nothing  of  his  machinations  transpired. 
Soon  after  the  King's  Proclamation,  on  the  8th 
of  March,  conceiving  the  moment  of  national 
alarm  at  the  renovation  of  hosilities,  and  a 
threatened  invasion,  favourable  to  his  projects, 
he  became  more  active  in  his  preparations.  The 
whole  of  his  family  portion,  which  consisted  of 


two  thousand  five  hundred  pounds,  he  devoted 
to  his  enthusiasm.  In  the  beginning  of  April, 
he  quitted  his  lodgings  at  Harold's  Cross,  with 
the  name  of  Hewi^  and  in  the  new  name  of 
Ellis  he  took  the  lease  of  a  IjouSt,  for  which  he 
paid  a  fine  of  sixty-one  guineas,  in  Butterfield 
Lane,  near  Rathfarnhem.  Here  he  harangued 
his  associates,  and  encouraged  them  by  hopes 
of  a  happy  result  to  their  labours. 

'Liberty,'  said  he,  '  is  the  child  of  oppression, 
and  the  birth  of  the  offspring  is  the  death  of  the 
parent ;  while  tyranny,  like  the  poetical  desert 
bird,  is  consumed  in  flames  ignited  by  itself, 
and  its  whole  existence  is  spent  in  providing 
the  means  of  self-destruction.  We  have  a  com- 
plete exemplification  of  this  in  the  past  history 
and  present  state  of  Ireland,  where  increase  of 
numbers  and  increase  of  intelligence,  have  been 
the  direct  result  of  that  system  which  too  long 
has  ruled  this  kingdom. 

'The  relentless  oppression  of  the  English 
Government  forced  the  people  into  habits  of 
temperance — necessity  made  them  abstemious, 
and  time  reconciled  them  to  their  wholesome 
esculent,  which  providentially  came,  like  the 
manna  of  the  desert,  to  feed  the  sojourners  in 
the  land  of  their  fathers. 

'When  nature  is  easily  satisfied,  and  the 
necessaries  of  life  procured  with  little  labour 
and  care,  increase  of  population  will  follow^ :  be- 
cause parents,  who  are  pontented  with  their 
own  condition,  will  feel  no  uneasiness  for  their 
offspring,  who  can,  without  any  difficulty,  pro- 
cure a  situation  similar  to  their  own.     Emigra- 


9 

lion  froni  siicli^a  country  was  not  to  be  e.xper! 
ed  ;  for  men  whose  modified  wants  were  amply 
satisfied  at  home,  hadiio  need  to  seek  elsewhere 
for  wealth  they  did  not  desire,  or  distinctions 
they  did  not  value.  Besides,  Ireland  has  al- 
ways had  peculiar  attractions  in  retaining-  her 
children  :  a  Scotchman  loves  a  Scotchman,  but ' 
an  Hibernian  loves  the  ofreen  fields  of  his  youth 
and  to  enjoy  these  there  are  few  privations  to 
which  he  will  not  cheerfully  submit.  The 
eccentric  humour,  the  boisterous  mirth,  the 
]Jnd  and  social  intercourse,  that  characterize 
the  peasantry,  likewise  spread  their  charms, 
and  generally  succeeded  in  subduing  the'  aspi-' . 
ring  notions  of  adventurers,  and  helped  to  retain 
the  people  afhome.  When  to  these  were  add- 
ed the  allurements  of  a  more  tender  kind,  and 
when  no  restraint  was  placed  upon  the  natural 
instinct  of  man,  wo  must  pot  wonder  that  Ire- 
land is  blessed  with  a  population  \>ithout  a 
parallel  in  "Europe. 

'  The  base  and  cowardly  co'Tdut,^  of  the  Irish 
proprietors  in  deserting  the  country,  though  .at 
the  moment  a  grievance,  was  abolutely  product- 
ive "of  good.  Their  large  domains  were  par- 
celled out  to  humble  cottages;  farms  were  di- 
vided and  subdivided;  cabins  every  where rais- 
ed  their  unostentatious  roofs  ;  and  every  floor 
was  blessed  with  a  numerous  progeny. 

'  Ireland  has  been  forced  into  agriculture;* 

*  Agriculture. — '  The  mother  and  nurse  of  a  mili- 
tary population,  Ireland  has  been  forced  into  this.  It 
was  ihousht  that  she  liad  sunk  under  the  arbitrary  tyran- 
ny of  British  I'nnnnpoiy.     I, ft   ih'^  prou.^  Briton    rei^'rile 


10 

and, this  still  farther  tends  to  increase  the  pop* 
uiation,  and  to  give  her  that  political  impor- 
tance she  never  could  have  acquired  if  the  peo- 
pie  had  been  immured  in  mineral  dungeons,  or 
coniined  to  the  fetid  vapours  of  a  manufactur- 
ing- bastile.  Rural  labour  is  not  more  condu- 
cive to  the  health  of  the  body,  than  it  is  benefi- 
cial to  the  exercise  of  the  mind  ;  and  we  always 
find  the  agriculturist  superior  to  the  mechanic 
not  only  in  phj^sical  strength,  but  in  moral  en- 
ergy. The  one  is  a  natural  soldier,  who  com- 
mands respect,  and  exacts  consideration  ;  while 
the  other  is  a  mere  animated  machine,  whose 
ideas  serve  but  as  internal  wheels  to  keep  his 
hands  in  motion.  His  frame  is  distorted,  his 
mind  crippled,  and  his  courage  annihilated:  but 
the  agriculturist  is  a  man  such  as  nature  intend* 
ed — fearless,  aptive  and  resolute ;  the  air  he 
breathes  ensures  him  health ;  the  ground  he 
tills  supplies  hjm  with  sustenance;  and  his  oc- 
cupations make  him  moral,  hardy,  and  brave. 
This  is  the  copy  of  a  million  portraits,  and  they 
are  all  found  in  Ireland. 

'  The  aspirations  of  civilized  man  after  free- 
dom are  coeval  with  bis  existence.  His  risrhts, 
like  the  mountain  torrent,  may  be  diverted  from 
their  original  channel,  but  cannot  be  effectually 
Impeded  in  their  course.     Dams  may  be  raised 

himself  in  the  wholesome  air  of  mines  and  workshops, 
and  become  ossified  in  the  strengthening  attitudes  oj 
monotonous  labour;  while  the  degraded  Irishman  draws 
health  and  number,  and  fierceness  and  force,  and  be- 
■<!omes  loo  nimble  to  be  caught  by  his  ciippled  owner, 
who  hobbles  after  and  threaten.''  witli  his  crutch. 


11 

to  stop  the  coming  stream;  but,  if  the  congre* 
gated  waters  cannot  find  another  way  to  the 
place  of  their  destination,  they  will,burst  through 
every  opposition,  and  overwhehn  in  destruction 
all  the  works  of  lordly  and  presumptive  man.' 

'  But  we  find,'  observed  a  bystander,  '  that 
very  populous  countries  have  continued  in 
slavery.' 

^'Numbers,'  rejoined  Emmet,  '  whose  minds 
are  more  enslaved  than  their  bodies  may  sub- 
mit to  injustice  ;  but  numbers  inspired  with  in- 
telligence never  can.  ^  The  Irish  people  are  not 
only  shrewd,  but  informed;  and  for  this  good, 
as  well  as  for  every  other  blessing  they  possess, 
they  are  indebted  to  the  folly  and  wickedness 
of  their  governors,  Divide  et  impera  has  long 
been  the  maxim  of  those  who  oppressed  us ;  but 
the  result  has  been  the  reverse  of  their  antici- 
pations. The  continued  agitation,  faction,  and 
discord,  consequent  upon  such  a  system  of 
legislation,  produced  their  moral  effects,  and, 
like  the  vivid  lightning,  served  to  purify  the 
element  they  disturbed.  The  political  whirl- 
pool has  drawn  within  its  vortex  every  man  in 
Ireland ;  discussion  has  been  universally  pro- 
voked ;  and  the  passions  have  been  enlisted  in 
the  general  conflict.  The  human  intellect  has 
heen  propelled,  vulgar  errors  corrected,  and  the 
spirit  of  enquiry  and  investigation  has  gone 
abroad. 

'  To  reason  upon  the  political  state  of  his 
country,  has  long  been, the  propensity  of  the 
Irish  peasant  ;  and,  from  continually  thinking 
upon  that   subject,  he  has  at  length  learned  to 


think  right.  He  not  only  knows  his  degraded 
condition,  but  is  well  acquainted  with  the  cause. 
There  is  not  a  subject  ponnfected  with  the 
country,  on  which  he  cannot  give  an  accurate 
opinion  ;  he  knows,  as  well  as  any  man  in  the 
Castle,  the  purpose  of  every  measure  of  Gov- 
ernment, whether  it  be  to  enrich  a  spend- 
thrift nobleman  by  a  job,  or  coerce  the  unfor- 
tunate peasantry  by  an  Insurrection  Act. 

'  I  Ipiow  my  countrymen  :  I  hav'e  conversed 
with  them,  and  have  found  them  practical  philo- 
sophers. Their  sentiments  are  the  pure  em- 
anations of  acute  minds,  instructed  in  the  school 
of  nature,  and  taught  by  adversity.  They  are, 
in  consequence,  generally  correct,  and,  without 
any  .great  exertion  of  thought,  are  frequently 
profound.  How  often  have  I  seen  them  smile 
at  the  abortive  efforts  of  their  friends,  who  en- 
deavour to  procure  them  redress  in  a  constitu- 
tional way,  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  have 
told  me  very  pertinently,  and  very  truly,  that 
they  expected  no  concession  from  Government, 
until  they  were  able  to  insist  on  it !' 

During  this  address,  Emmet's  fine  manly 
countenance  Mowed  with  an  enthusiastic  ar- 
dour,  and  he  delivered  himself  with  as  much 
animated  fervency  as  if  he  were  addressing  a 
numerous,  but  distracted  assembh',  which  he 
wished  to  persuade^  His  words  flowed  with  a 
graceful  fluency,  and  he  combined  his  argu- 
ments wdth  all  the  ease  of  a  man  accustomed 
to  abstract  discussions. 

His  amiable  and  esteemed  character  gave  an. 
elevating  influence  to  the  fame  of  the  society 


13 

of'whichhe  was  the  leader — many  ot  whom, 
though  of  equal  talents  and  respectability,  were 
inferior  in  that  fine  sensibility  of  heart,  and 
constancy  in  friendship,  which  gained  kim  the 
love  and  esteem  of  all  who  knew  him.  Nor 
was  it  only  for  his  bland  manners  and  fine  sen- 
sibilities of  heart,  and  constancy  in  friendship, 
and  firmness  in  principle  ;  he  ranked  amongst 
the  highest  of  its  gifted  sons,  who  display  its 
fertile  genius  and  its  social  spirit,  who  intro- 
duce the  name  of  Ireland  to  the  respect  of  the 
world. 

Commensurate  with  his  value  to  relatives 
and  friends,  and  to  his  native  city,  was  the 
appalling  sensation  that  pervaded  his  country 
on  the  occasion  of  his  lamented  death.  It  is 
not,  then  surprising  that  his  removal  in  one 
unexpected  moment  from  this  busy  life's  voca- 
tions, to  the  oblivious  silence  of  the  tomb,  should 
produce,  as  it  did,  a  general  burst  of  sorrow, 
and  a  common  sense  of  bereavement. 

Forty  summers  have  closed  around  the  Uni- 
ted Irishmen  since  they  made  catholic  emanic- 
pation  and  parliamentary  reform  the  leading 
measures  of  their  policy.  They  found  all  the 
catholics  of  Ireland,  the  great  majority  of  its 
population,  reduced  by  the  operation  of  the 
ferocious  penal  laws,  to  the  condition  of  slaves, 
in  all  things  but  being  vendible,  to  the  very 
meanest  of  their  protestant  countrymen.  Not 
only  did  the  British  Government  embrace  every 
^severity  that  could  w^aste  the  vigour  of  the  na- 
tion, but  all  the  rights  of  humanity,  and  every 
duty  of  life  were  sacrificed  by  its  direction  or 


14 

connivance,  provided  only  that  this  would  pro* 
mote  the  self  interest,  or  gratify  the  rancour 
of  the  favoured  party. 

There  was  a  law  of  discovery,  by  which  a 
man  who  betrayed  the  confidence  of  his  friend^ 
if  he  w^ere  catholic,  possessed  himself  of  that 
friend's  estate.  There  was  a  law  which  dis- 
abled the  catholic  father  to  be  guardian  to  his 
own  child,  or  to  educate  him.  There  was  a 
law  which  made  the  disobedience  or  apostacy 
of  the  catholic  child  the  means  whereby  to  dis- 
inherit his  father.  There  was  a  law  for  rob- 
bing a  catholic  of  his  horse  on  the  highway,  if, 
when  interrogated,  he  confessed  his  faith. 
There  was  a  law  to  prevent  the  eiducation  of 
catholic  children,  and  to  punish  catholic  teach- 
ers as  convicts  ;  to  banish  the  catholic  clergy, 
and  to  hang  them  if  they  returned  :  to  prevent 
^  catholics  from  purchasing  or  inheriting  landed 
.  estates :  from  having  arms  for  their  defence : 
to  debar  them  from  the  profession  of  the  law : 
to  prevent  them  from  holding  any  office  of  trusty 
honour  or  emolument,  voting  at  elections,  or 
sitting  in  parliament. 

The  United  Irishmen  found  their  country 
under  government  of  those  laws,  and  of  perhaps 
a  hundred  more,  all  conceived  in  the  same  spirit, 
and  all  elaborated  with  consummate  skill  to 
Tob,  harass,  and  insult  a  defenceless  people. 
Those  statutes,  without  parallel  for  their  inhu- 
manity, were  framed  against  christians,  under 
pretence  of  securing  the  protestant  religion. 
They  were  enacted  by  the  Irish  protestants, 
political   protestants,  than  whom  no  sect  has 


cried  more  loudly  p.guinsL  persecution,  when 
protestants  were  the  martyrs.  For  all  this  the 
protestant  religion  is  not  persecuting  in  its  na- 
ture. The  crimes  of  the  dominant  party  are 
not  justly  chargeable  upon  the  protestant  relig' 
ion,  though  committed  in  its  name.  They  were 
bitterly  deplored  by  the  United  Irishmen  of  all 
religions,  and  by  none  more  than  the  subject 
of  this  memoir,  himself  a  member  of  the  estab- 
lished church,  but  no  abettor  of  its  injustice. 

Through  all  this  long  persecution,  the  con- 
duct of  England  wore  a  vizor  of  hypocrisy.  It 
was  not  the  conversion  of  the  Irish  it  desired, 
but  their  spoliation,  division  and  subjection. 
Jf  united  in  religion,  they  might  unite  for  their 
jvorldly  interest,  and  a  means  of  weakening 
them  by  dissension  would  be  lost.  The  Eng- 
lish mission  never  had  the  merit  of  even  being 
honestly  fanatical ;  it  was  cold-blooded  and 
crafty.  Its  conduct  was  not  feebly  palliated  by 
the  mistaken  sincerity  af  blind  zeal,  which  time 
might  soften  and  philosophy  assuage.  It  hafl 
the  more  terrestrial  motives  of  insatiable  rapac- 
ity, the  appetite  for  plunder,  and  the  desire  of 
battening  on  the  green  pastures  of  Ireland. 
This  is  the  eating  canker  which  neither  time 
nor  reason  ever  cures,  and  which  is  now  as  de- 
vouring, where  it  has  the  power,  as  at  the  first 
hour. 

After  the  laws  had  disfranchised  four-fifths 
of  the  population,  all  the  emoluments  of  office, 
all  the  wealth  of  the  richest  church  in  the 
world,  all  the  distinctions  of  power  all  the  pomp, 
qijcumstance,  ^nd  advantages  of  dominion,  fell 


1() 

into  the  lap  of  the  favoured  (e\v.  These  men 
never  wished  to  lessen  the  pretext  of  their 
gains ;  they  never  sought  the  conversion  of 
their  helots  by  any  means  that  ever  made  pro- 
selytes to  any  cause. 

The  domesti.c  spoliation  of  the  catholics  was 
the  share  of  the  Irish  protestants  in  this  whole- 
sale robbery.  The  spoliation  of  the  Irish  nation 
was  the  part  of  England  in  this  boundless 
plunder :  she  took  the  whole  trade,  prosperity,, 
and  independence  of  Ireland,  which  the  Irish 
protestants  freely  surrendered  for  the  license  to 
pillage  and  tyrannize  at  home.  These  wrongs 
inflicted  and  endured,  beofat  mutual  hatred  and 
frequent  collision,  and  will  account  for  the  little 
union  among  Irishmen,  and  the  ferocity  of  char- 
acter to  be  found  in  those  districts  where  th-e 
adverse  parties  came  oftenest  into  contact. 

This  barter  of  a  nation's  rio-hts  for  the  lucre 
of  a  faction,  is  what  was  called  the  protestant 
ascendancy  in  church  and  state.  It  was  also 
called,  the  British  constitution.  Against  that 
impious  combination  of  treachery  within,,  and 
tyranny  from  without,  the  United  Irishmen 
pointed  their  oath  of  union — "To  forward  a 
brotherhood  of  affection,  aopmmunityof  rights^ 
an  identity  of  interestsh,«*aBa  a  union  of  power 
among  Irishmen  of  every  religious  persuasion.'* 
It  was  this  oath  that  was  prosecuted  as  a  felony^ 
and  for  which  frequent  victims  were  sent  to  the 
scaflbld. 

Emmet  did  not  live  to  behold  the  triumph  of 
the  catholic  cause,  that  happy  accomplishment 
of  one  of  ihe  orreat  measures  to  which  he  deva 


17 

ted  fortune  and  life.  But  he  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  all  the  materials  for  a  succesful  strug- 
gle for  freedom,  in  the  internal  resources  of  his 
beloved  Ireland.  In  his  moments  of  social  ease 
and  retirement,  he  delig-hted  to  enumerate  those 
resources.  A  writer  who  seems  to  have  known 
him  well,  gives  us  the"  following  conversation 
between  Emmet  and  his  friends  while  he  was 
maturing  his  measures  for  the  coming  contest. 

'  I  have  seldom  spent  a  happier  hour  in  my 
life,  than  I  did  that  evening  with  Emmet.  His 
manners,  his  eloquence,  and  the  sincerity,  as 
well  as  kindness,  which  breathed  through  every 
thing  he  said,  banished  reserve  on  my  part, 
and  we  all  conversed  more  like  long-tried 
friends  than  casual  acquaintances.  We  talked 
of  literature,  of  London,  and  of  politics.  My 
sentiments  regarding  Liberty — the  goddess  he 
idolized — were  warm  j  and,  as  I  spoke  with  be- 
coming abhorrence  of  tyranny,  he  seemed  de- 
lighted with  my  opinions.  Befor-e  we  separa- 
ted he  made  me  promise  to  call  on  him  that 
night  at  his  lodgings  ;  and  when  I  did  so,  about 
eight  o'clock,  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find 
the  Exile  there  before  me.  After  supper  the 
conversation  took  a  political  turn,  and  Emmet, 
whose  mind  was  then  filled  with  the  project  of 
liberating  his  country,  began  to  expatiate  on 
the  ease  with  which  Ireland  could  throw  off 
the  English  yoke,  and  the  benefits  that  would 
ensue  from  such  a  measure.' 

*Your  enthusiasm,  my  friend,'  said  I,  inter- 
rupting him,  '  carries  you  beyond  the  bounds 
of  probability  5  for,  in  anticipating  a  revolution 

2* 


18 


in  this  country,  you  forget  that  England  calcu- 
lates on  the  subjection  of  Ireland,  and  that  she 
is  able  to  compel  what  it  is  her  interest  to  de- 


sire." 


'  That  she  desires  it,'  he  replied,  '  I  have  no 
doubt  ;  but  that  she  is  able  to  compel  it,  I  un- 
hesitatingly deny.  The  belief  in  England's 
superior  strength  has  too  long  prevailed  in  this 
kingdom,  but  it  is  now,  happily,  beginning  to 
disappear.  In  comparing  the  two  countries, 
we  must  exclude  from  our  calculation  every 
thing  but  physical  strength  alone,  and  then 
the  balance  will  be  entirely  in  favour  of  Ireland  j 
for  I  believe  it  will  be  readily  admitted  that 
she  has  the  greater  military  population  ;  and 
in  a  struggle  for  liberty,  men  only  are  valuable. 

Mt  is  a  matter  of  arithmetical  calculation. 
Ireland  can,  in  the  event  of  a  well-organized 
revolution,  turn  into  the  field  between  seven 
and  eight  hundred  thousand  effective  men — an 
arm}'"  certainly  more  numerous  than  any  force 
England  could  send  as^ainst  her.' 

'Admitting  your  calculation  to  be  correct,'  I 
returned,  '  you  are  not  to  deny  the  superiority 
of  disciplined  troops  over  rebel  numbers.  An 
army  of  fifty  thousand  men  would  soon  rout 
your  invincible  phalanx.' 

'  The  time  has  passed,  my  dear  sir,'  he  re- 
joined, 'when  such  an  exploded  notion  found 
credei.ce  among  mankind.  In  a  barbarous  age, 
when  two  armies  drew  up  within  gun-shot  of 
each  other,  each  serving  as  an  immoveable  tar- 
get for  its  opponent  to  fire  at,  such  a  belief  was 
:3atural,  because  he  who  possessed   a  musket 


19 

had  a  fearful  advanta?-e  over  the  liian  who  had 
not  one.  But  modern  times  have  a  different 
and  more  natural  mode  of  warfare  ;  personal 
prowess  now,  as  in  periods  of  antiquity,  is  like- 
ly to  be  victorious  ;  and  all  necessary  discipline 
can  be  learned  in  a  very  few  days.  A  man 
does  not  necessarily  acquire  either  superior 
courage  or  address  from  the  colour  of  his  coat, 
and  a  soldier  with  a  fixed  bayonet  has  no  advan- 
tage over  a  fierce  peasant  with  a  well-tempered 
pike.  Almost  every  victory  of  modern  times 
has  been  gained  by  coming  to  close  action,  and 
that  mode,  to  which  a  well-regulated  army  is 
indebted  for  success,  is  as  available  to  a  deter- 
mined band  of  freemen  as  to  any  hired  troops 
in  Europe. 

'  But,  as  different  animals  have  different 
modes  of  attack  and  defence,  an  insurgent  army 
has  a  discipline  of  its  own,  recommended  by 
reason,  and  sanctioned  by  experience.  With 
walled  towns  and  close  garrisons  they  have 
nothing  to  do :  the  hills  of  their  country  serve 
them  as  places  of  retreat ;  marshes,  rivers,  and 
lakes  are  theirbest  bastions,  while  defiles  afford 
them  opportunities  of  attack,  and  woods  and 
valleys  serve  them  as  places  of  ambush. 

'  The  face  of  nature  solicits  the  oppressed  to 
regain  their  fredom  ;  and  certainly,  no  country 
♦  on  the  globe  has  so  many  invitations  to  revolt 
as  our  own.  Scarcely  a  mile,  from  one  extrem- 
ity of  the  island  to  the  other,  in  which  an  iios- 
tile  army  could  not  be  successfully  harassed, 
and,  if  needful,  successfully  opposed.  To  this 
may   be  added,  thav  an  Irish  insurgent  army 


20 

would  materially  differ  from  a  similar  one  m 
any  kingdom  of  Europe ;  for  nearly  everj'^ 
peasant,  and  certainly  every  man  above  the 
rank  of  a  peasant,  is  intimately  acquainted  with 
the  use,  of  fire-arms.  Those  near  the  sea-shore 
(and  those  are  a  large  portion)  are  excellent 
marksmen  ;  while  the  inhabitants  of  mountains, 
and  the  neighbourhoods  of  bogs,  lakes  and 
marshes,  are  expert  fowlers.  The  Wexford  in- 
surgents, in  the  late  rebellion,  gave  a  proof  of 
their  abilities,  and  showed  that  the  peasantry 
of  Ireland,  when  aroused,  are  nothing  inferior 
to  the  best  disciplined  troops  in  Europe.' 

'I  know  it,'  interrupted  the  Exile,  '  for  I  wit- 
nessed their  skill  in  bringing  down  an  enemy, 
ani  I  must  confess  that,  had  they  leaders  of  ex- 
perience, they  were  nothing  inferior,  man  for 
man,  to  any  force  that  might  be  brought  against 
them. 

'  There  is  always  a  deficiency,'  said  I,  '  in 
some  part,  that  renders  every  effort  of  the  re- 
mainder abortive.  Out  of  a  hundred  revolts, 
scarcely  one  has  been  successful.' 

'  Pardon  me,'  said  Emmet,  '  if  I  set  you  right ; 
for  history  furnishes  us  with  few  instances  of 
failure  where  a  nation  has  been  unanimous.  It 
is  giving  the  enemies  of  man  a  new  weight,  to 
add  to  the  burden  of  oppression,  by  dignifying 
pigmy  insurrections  and  partial  rebellions  with 
the  name  of  open  revolt.  They  should  rather 
be  called  sanguinary  riots,  and  thus  reduced 
to  their  proper  level :  their  ghosts  might  not  bo 
summoned  from  oblivious  neglect  to  scare  man- 
)iiDd  from  an  assertion  of  their  rights.    Instant 


^1 

ces  of  national  resuscitation  are  neither  few 
nor  unfrequent.  Tyranny  was  expelled  from 
Rome  by  the  rebellion  of  the  people ;  and 
Switzerland  and  the  Netherlands  are  memorials 
of  successful  revolts.  In  our  own  day,  America 
has  shown  us  what  a  few  thousand  peasants 
could  accomplish  when  actuated  by  a  love  of 
liberty.  Ireland  is  superior  in  numbers  to  any 
of  these,  equals  them  in  address  and  courage, 
and  stimulated  bv  wronors  oreater  than  have 
been  experienced  by  all  these  together. 

'  Soldiers  are  but  men,  and  generally  the  most 
imbecile  of  men.  Let  the  people  be  taught  to 
despise  the  glare  and  glitter  of  polished  arms, 
and  the  terror  they  are  wont  to  inspire  will  be 
converted  into  objects  of  ridicule  and  con- 
tempt.— Happily  an  opinion  prevails  in  Ireland, 
that  a  soldier  is  an  inferior  mortal,  and  that 
three  hundred  athletic  peasants  would  be  equal 
to  a  regiment  of  a  thousand  men.  I  don't  say 
that  this  opinion  is  correct,  but  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that,  in  case  of  a  rising,  it  would  be  of 
infinite  service,  as  tending  to  inspire  confidence 
in  the  insurgents,  and  contempt  for  their  ene- 
mies— two  things  that  materially  conduce  to 
victory. 

'  Leaders,  in  a  harassing  war,  would  be  easi- 
ly procured,  for  the  sagacity  of  an  unlettered 
peasant  might  serve  for  the  purpose.  Who 
does  not  remember  the  servant  boy  at  Oulard, 
whose  advice  was  followed  by  the  destruction 
of  a  whole  regiment  \ — Great  occasions  pro- 
duce great  men,  and  generals  are  formed  in  the 
jitudy  as  well  as  in  the  camp.     The  Catholics 


22 

file  not  what  they  formerly  were, — intelligence 
is  diffused,  thousands  of  them  are  in  the  British 
army,  and  every  man  of  these  would  desert  on 
the  first  opportunity,  for  the  amor  patrice  is  not 
extinguished  by  the  imposition  of  the  military 
oath.' 

Dow^n  to  the  period  of  1782,  English  acts  of 
parliament  were  suffered  to  bind  Ireland.  Mis- 
government  and  poverty,  the  neglect  of  agricuU 
ture,  the  prohibition  of  commerce,  the  abandon- 
ment of  manufactures  were,  during  that  period, 
the  portion  of  Ireland.  But  towards  the  end  of 
the  American  war,  the  volunteers  emancipa- 
ted their  country  from  this  bond;jge,  and  gave 
it  the  means  of  being  independent.  The^;f[jim- 
ple  of  America  was  before  both'parties  with  all 
the  omens  :  hence  the  demands  of  the  volun- 
teers  were  prudentially  conceded,  and  the  glori- 
ous revolution  of  1782  was  accompanied  with- 
out the  loss  of  a  drop  of  blood.  The  happy 
consequence  was  the  immediate  liberation  of 
the  commerce  of  Ireland  from  English  restric- 
tions. Her  ensuing  prosperity  seemed  miracu- 
lous— so  prompt,  so  general,  so  enriching  ;  and 
her  aptitude  to  prosper  by  a  free  trade  became 
known  at  the  same  time,  to  her  rival  and  her- 
self. 

But  the  volunteers  could  not  be  always  in 
arms,  and  Ireland  had  no  re'presentative  assem- 
bly to  foster  her  prosperity  during  peace.  Hers 
was,  alas !  a  borough-parliament,  composed 
solely  of  the  dominant  faction,  representing  but 
a  small  portion  qf  the  inhabitants,  and  having 
few  feelinfrs  or  vyishes  in  unisron  with  the  R}as8 
'4>f  the  p^ple.  '      ' 


•23 

Every  one  soon  perceived  that  all  measures 
of  relief  would  be  insecure,  nay,  illusory,  unless 
preceded  or  accompanied  by  a  reform  in  the 
parliament.  The  volunteers  saw  it,  and  endeav- 
oured  to  reform  ;  but  they  excluded  the  Catho- 
lics from  their  plan,  and  did  not  see  (unhappy 
effects  of  the  ignorance  of  the  time!)  that  this 
alone  would  defeat  their  aim ;  that  they  could 
not  erect  an  edifice  of  freedom  on  a  foundatiort 
of  monopoly.  Warned  by  these  errors,  the 
United  Irishmen  altered  the  system  of  reform 
fundamentally.  They  extended  their  base,  and 
established  their  plan  upon  three  simple  prin- 
ciples, necessarily  dependent  upon  each  other, 
arid  containing  the  disease,  the  remedy,  and  the 
mode  of  its  attainment.  The  excess  of  English 
influence  was  the  disease,  a  reform  in  parlia- 
ment the  remedy,  and  the  inclusion  of  the  Ca- 
tholics the  mode  of  its  attainiment. 

Theobald  Wolfe  Tone  had,  of  all  others,  the 
greatest  part  in  effecting  this  change  of  senti- 
ment among  the  Protestants,  to  whose  commu- 
nion he  belong^ed.  He  wrote  the  origfinal  de- 
claration  for  the  Society  of  United  Irishmen  of 
Belfast,  find  his  powerful  writings  brought  the 
Presbyterians  of  the  North  very  generally  into 
the  system. 

Emmet  often  heard  him  in  strains  of  pure 
and  forceful  eloquence  expand,  inculcate  and 
apply,  for  the  benefit  of  his  beloved  country, 
the  political  principles  of  the  United  Irishm.en- 

Wherever  men  have  had  no  means  of  legiti- 
mate redress,  we  have  seen  them  become  then 
own  avengers,  the  worst  government  bt^ing  £.!- 


-  24 

ways  marked  by  the  greatest  commotions.  If 
there  be  not  an  impartial  administration  of  jus- 
tice, the  siletto  takes  place  of  the  jury,  and  for 
want  of  a  g-overnment  restricted  and  account- 
able in  Ireland,  insurrection  and  civil  war  were 
the  resources  of  an  exasperated  people.  Left 
without  the  protection  of  a  national  parliament, 
Ireland  was  always  tj^rannically  ruled,  the 
frame  of  society  dislocated  and  broken,  and  her 
numerous  insurrections  were  the  throes  of 
asfonized  nature. 

But  from  the  moment  the  protestant  reform- 
ers recognised  the  principle  that  no  reform  was 
practicable,   efficacious,  or  just,  which   should 
not  equally  include  Irishmen  of  every  religious 
persuasion,  the  measure  was  feasible.     It  re- 
ceived the  assent  of  the  whole  nation,  save  only 
the  established  church,   and  the  oth^r   depen- 
dants of  the  British  government.     Its  principle 
recommended    itself  to  the  common   sense  of 
mankind ;  and  the  authority  of  America  pro- 
claimed its  benefits.     In  a  short  time  its  way 
was  so  far  prepared  by  public  opinion  that  even 
its    interested   opponents   anticipated  its  final 
success.      They    determined,    therefore,    upon 
the    desperate  expedient  of  leaving  no  parlia- 
ment in  Ireland  for   reform    to   better.     They 
hastened  to  buy  from  the  borough-holders  that 
which  a  truly  Irish  parliament  would  not  sell — 
its   own  existence  and  the  nation's   independ- 
ence.    They  hoped  to   extinguish  in  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  parliament,  every  chance  of  peace- 
able and   constitutional    improvement.     They 
coLC-pired  to  transport  it  for  life,  mutilated  and 


25 

captive,  into  the  British  House ;  to  imprisott 
beyond  sea,  in  the  abyss  of  English  supremacy, 
where  its  languishing,  nerveless  remains,  doom- 
ed to  live  in  a  perpetual  minority,  could  never 
more  bring  to  its  ill-fated  country  the  bless- 
ings of  liberty,  good  government,  or  com- 
merce.' 

By  the  measures  of  a  legislative  union,  Ire- 
land reverts  again  to  the  same  wretched  state 
as  when  bound  by  acts  of  the  British  parlia- 
ment. On  the  misery  of  that  state,  the  ablest 
men  who  ever  advocated  her  cause,  even  other 
than  United  Irishmen,  have  exhausted  eloquence 
and  invective,  and  the  brightest  page  in  her 
history  is  the  one  which  records  the  extorted 
renunciation  of  that  usurped  power  and  plen- 
ary right  of  self-government.  The  pitiful  re- 
presentation of  Ireland  in  a  foreign  land  can 
but  little  avail  her  for  her  own  benefit.  She  is 
there  in  a  minority  of  one  to  six.  The  six  give 
the  law  to  the  one,  and  with  that  one  they  have 
nothing  in  common.  They  have  other  con- 
stituents, who  are  a  different  people,  who  have 
clashing  interests,  who  have  national  antipathies 
and  who  may  •  well  feel  contempt  for  the  sub- 
stitutes.of  that  parliament  that  traitorously  sold 
its  country.  Such  are  the  legislators  who  have 
bound  Ireland  in  fetters. 

The  consequences  are  the  same  as  heretofore : 
discontent  and  remonstrance,  and  a  proclama- 
tion to  all  Europe,  showing  how  easy  it  avouM 
be  to  dismember  the  United  Kingdom.  No 
loyalty  will  reconcile  rational  beings  to  pre- 
serve an  evil  which    thcv   can   rxchang*"   for   a 

3 


26 

good  ;  so  that  those  who  make  Ireland  poor  and 
enslaved,  set  before  her,  above  all  other  men, 
the  advantages  of  separation.  What  can  create 
a  desire  for  this  remedy  but  ill-treatment  1  and 
so  long  as  this  treatment  lasts,  how  shaH  that 
desire  discontinue  1  They  stand  in  the  relation 
of  cause  and  effect,  and  will  for  ever  go  on,  or 
cease  together. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  Emmet,  that  the  legisla- 
tive union  was  a  measure  more  suited  to  facili- 
tate the  despotism  of  the  ministry  than  to 
strengthen  the  dominion  of  England.  Since 
the  abuse  of  power  has  always  followed  excess, 
no  less  in  nations  than  individuals,  a  restraint 
upon  human  actions  is  salutary  for  all  parties, 
and  the  impediment  that  shall  stop  the  career 
of  ministerial  tyranny,  will  be  found  to  work 
best  for  the  stability  of  the  connexion.  If  this 
operate  to  the  good  of  Ireland,  she  will  observe 
it  for  its  utility,  an  Irish  parliament  being  then 
its  best  preservative.  If,  on  the  contrary,  it  bs 
made,  as  at  present,  to  sacrifice  the  many  for 
the  few,  it  will  be  viewed  as  a  ciirse  by  the  Irish 
people — an  evil  that  must  be  got  rid  of  rather 
than  a  good  to  be  embraced  and  cherished. 

At  present  we  see  those  persons  who  deny  a 
parliament  to  Ireland  on  which  to  rest  her  peace 
and  happiness,  self-poised  and  self-protected  ; 
v/e  see  them  sedulous  to  change  the  state  of  the 
question,  and  to  represent  the  repeal  of  the 
legislative  union  as  a  schism  in  the  government. 
They  would  limit  the  people  of  Ireland  entirely 
to  England  for  benefits — Avhence,  then,  have 
come  their  wrongs  1     An  Irish  parliament,  on 


•27 

the  contrary,  would  be  a  bond  of  liberal  con- 
nexion ;  it  would  settle  every  question  of  do- 
mestic policj'  at  home,  prevent  strife  and  re- 
crimination between  both  countries,  secure  to 
the  affairs  of  Ireland,  a  degree  of  attention  which 
however  necessary,  they  do  not  and  cannot  ob- 
tain among  the  weighty  concerns  of  a  different 
people,  in  a  foreign  legislature.  It  would  re- 
move the  old  opprobrious  evil  of  legislation  with- 
out representation  ;  for  wherever  this  is  partial 
and  foreign,  it  is  inadequate  :  as  relates  to  Ire- 
land, it  is  worthless  mockery.  Why  was  a 
•borough-constituency^  vicious,  but  because  it 
sent  men  to  make  laws  for  the  people  who  did 
not  represent  the  people,  who  were  returned  by 
a  different  body,  and  intent  upon  serving  them- 
selves and  their  employers. 

The  attributes  of  genius  are  not  rare  among 
the  countrymen  of  Emmet,  and  time  is  constant- 
ly developing  the  resources  of  mind.  The  la- 
bours of  intellect  press  onward  for  distinction, 
while  names  of  high  endowments  are  forced  back 
to  make  room  for  new  reputation.  They  alone 
will  be  remembered  who  have  acted  with  an  im- 
pulsive power  on  ihe  destinies  of  their  country 
and  kind.  Among-  those  who  first  tauorht  how 
to  overthrow  the  misrule  of  Ireland,  who  exposed 
its  cause  and  prepared  its  cure,  Emmet  is  dis- 
tinguished. He  had  great  influence  in  the  adop- 
tion of  those  measures  which  are  still  at  issue 
between  Ireland  and  her  foes,  and  which,  in 
part  obtained,  in  part  withheld,  are  determina- 
tive of  her  future  happiness,  as  they  shall  finally 
iall  or  be  signally  successful. 


28 

T|ie  different  ciepols  of  Dublin,  u  iiicli  he  hired,. 
were,  at  his  sole  expense,  furnished  with  mili- 
tary pikes  and  handles,  ammunition  and  clo- 
thing. In  one  of  these  depots,  nranpowder  was 
manufactured  :  in  the  others,  timber  was  pro- 
vided for  constructing-  pikes,  and  those  already 
made,  and  his  other  arms  and  stores  were  there 
deposited. 

It  must  be  observed  of  the  numerous  persons 
connected  with  those  depots,  that  neither  the 
certainty  of  an  ample  reward,  nor  the  wavering 
instability  common  to  men  engaged  in.  dangei- 
and  dangerous  designs,  could  draw  the  discov- 
ery from  the  impenetrable  recesses  of  their  fi- 
delity :  an  evident  proof  that  the  hearts  of  the 
people  were  with  the  project ;  or,  perhaps  it 
was  that  the  departments  of  the  police  of  Dublin, 
were  all  filled  by  men  who  had  been  deeply  en- 
gaged in  the  cruelties  of  the  preceding  rebel- 
lion, and  who,  being  on  that  account  stigma- 
tized and  detested  by  the  people,  even  those  v/ho 
were  secretly  inclined  to  give  information,  were 
not  willing  to  unbosom  themselves  to  men 
whom  they  regarded  with  so  much  horror. 

We  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  insert  the 
following  narrative,  as  illustrative  of  the  cruel- 
ties and  abominations  committed  daily,  and 
with  impunity,  upon  the  unfortunate  people  of 
that  dreadful  period  : 

''  After  walking  about  a  mile,  we  came  to  o 
neat  thatched  cabin,  situated  in  a  very  seques- 
tered valley.  A  river  ran  before  it,  and  a  few 
aged  trees  shaded  the  simple  roof.  ,  The  door 
was  open,  and,  on  our  entrance,  a   peasant  rose 


29 

to  receive  us.     He  smiled  as  lie  handed    me  a 
chair,  and  looked  inquisitively  at  my  companion. 

"' Don't  you  recollect  Mr.  J V  inquired 

the  exile.     This  interrogation  was  followed  by 
a  momentary  pause,  during  which  Howlan  seem 
ed  lost  in  reflection,  after  which   he  burst  into 
an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"'Oh!  blud-an-ounze  !'  he  repeated  several 
times,  'is  this  yourself — your  own  four  bones 
Avhole  and  sound  after  all  \  Well,  well,  I  knew, 
I  knew  I  should  see  you  again,  though  I  was 
certain  you  were  dead  ;  and  many  is  the  pater- 
und-avi  I  said  for  your  soul,  though  I  believe 
you  are  a  Protestant.  But  where's  the  harm 
in  that  1  did  not  you  fight  like  any  Roman  for 
ould  Ireland  1  and  what  more  could  a  real  true- 
born  Catholic  do  X  Troth,  some  of  them  didn't 
do  as  much,  the  spalpeens^  or  weAvouldn't  have 
now  to  begin  asfain.' 

" '  So,  so,  Howlan,'  said  the  Exile,  '  you 
haven't  j-et  learned  to  be  loyal  1 ' 

"  '  Loyal !'  repeated  Mie  hero  of  Oulard,  '  no, 
in  troth,  for  it  is  not  in  my  grain  ;  and  faith,  I 
believe  if  I  was  paid  for  it,  these  stripes  on  my 
back  would  not  let  me.  Oh  no,  the  crows  will 
get  white  feathers  before  Denis  Howlan  will 
forgive  the  Orangemen— bad  luck  to  them.' 

"  '  I  recollect,'  returned  the  Exile,  'a  part  of 
your  story,  but  the  apprehensions  I  was  under 
wlien  I  first  heard  it,  prevented  me  from  attend- 
ing to  the  whole.  Was  not  your  father  mur- 
dered 1 

"  '  Murdherd  !'  repeated  Howlan  ;  '  ay,  murd- 
herd  over  and  over  again  ;  and  wasn't  I  murd- 


30 

herd  myself  1  But,'  he  continued,  '  I'll  just  tell 
it  all  here  to  you  both.'  Then,  drawing  his 
stool  close  to  where  we  sat,  he  proceeded  : — 

"  'My  father,  (Lord  be  marciful  to  kis  sowl 
in  glory  !)  kept  a  snug  little  farnn  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  road  that  goes  from  Gorey  to 
Ferns  j  and,  though  I  say  it,  there  was  not  a 
more  sasty  man  in  the  county  of  Wexford.  I, 
myself,  was  the  youngest  of  three  sons  and  two 
daughters,  and  the  devil  a  more  genteeler  family 
attended  Mass  of  a  Sunday  than  Paddy  How- 
lan's.  My  tAvo  brothers  were  able  strapping 
fellows,  and  faith,  there  were  worse  boys  in  the 
parish  than  myself.  You  may  be  sure  we  were 
real  Crappies,  and  why  but  we  should  for  our 
religion  and  country  % 

**  The  winter  before  the  Kebellion,  the  Yeo's* 
were  out  every  night,  and  dreadful  work  they 
made  of  it — burning,  whipping,  and  shooting. — 
A  poor  Catholic  couldn't  live  at  all  at  all ;  and, 
as  we  expected  that  they  would  give  us  a  call ; 
we  hid  our  pikes  and  guns  in  the  ditches,  and, 
to  be  sure,  appeared  as  innocent  as  lambs.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  15th  of  November  ;  no, 
never,  while  there  is  a  drop  of  Irish  blood  in  my 
soul  J  for,  when  I  think  of  it,  my  brain  boils,  and 
my  very  flesh  creeps,  as  if  there  was  a  blister 
all  over  me.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  on  the  15th 
of  November,  I  was  coming  home  from  Ennis- 
corthy  market ;  and  being  after  taking  a  glass 
of  the  creature  with  one  friend  or  another,  I  was 
pretty  merry,  and  to  make  the  road  light,  I  was 
einging  '  The  Victim  of  Tyranny ^^  and  the  ould 
•  A  contemptuous  name  for  Yeomen. 


:5i. 

-fnare  a-self  was  so  pleased  with  the  tune,  that 
she  kept  the  track  as  straight  as  a  die,  though 
the  night  was  as  dark  as  pitch. 

"  '  Just  as  I  came  to  the  top  of  the  bougharten^ 
that  led  down  to  our  house,  a  fellow  seized  my 
beast  by  the  halter,  and  while  you'd  be  lookmg 
Tound  you,  a  score  of  bayonets  was  ready  to  pop 
into  poor  Denis.  "  Hallo !"  said  I,  "  what's 
this V  "You  Popish  rebel,"  cried  the  officer, 
for  it  was  a  party  of  the  North  Cork,  "  what 
song  is  that  you  were  singing  V^ 

"  Och,  nothing  at  all,"  said  I,  "  only  new 
words  to  an  ould  tune." 

"Ah!  then,  by  ,"  said  he,  "  you  shall 

soon  sing  another  tune,  unless  you  tell  us  of  all 
the  people  you  know  to  be  United  Irishmen." 

"  Faith,  and  that's  what  I  can  soon  do,"  says 
I,  *' for  I  know  nobody."  The  word  wasn't 
well  out  of  my  mouth,  when  he  ran  his  sword 
into  my  arm,  saying,  "  That's  a  tickler  to  help 
your  memory."  "  Thank  your  honour,"  says 
I,  "  but  as  ye  are  net  Yeo's,  I  hope  you  will  act 
decent,  and  let  a  poor  boy  pass.  My  name  is 
Howlan,  and  never  did  any  man  an  injury." — 
■*'  Howlan  !"  cried  the  officer,  "  you  are  the  very 
man  we  want.  Have  you  not  two  brothers  V* 
"  Ay,  and  a  father  too,"  I  answered,  quite  calm- 
ly, though  I  was  in  a  terrible  pickle,  with  the 
blood  streaming  down  my  arm. 

"  I  was  then  bid  to  drive  down  to  my  father's 
house,  and  they  all  kept  quite  close  to  me.  The 
family  were  all  in  bed,  and  I,  foolish  enough, 
.called  up  my  poor  father,  then  seventy  years  of 
Age,  and  jny  two  brothers.    They  came  out  into 


3*1  ' 

the  lawn  in  their  shirts,  for  they  were  so 
frighiened  they  foiT  ot  to  put  on  their  clothes, 
and  if  they  hadn't,  they  could  not,  for  want  of 
time. 

"'My  father  said  he  had  no  arms;  and 
when  he  protested,  which  was  the  truth,  that 
he  was  no  united  man,  the  sergeant  knocked 
him  down  with  a  pistol,  and  some  of  the  sol- 
diers began  kicking  of  him  while  he  lay  on  the 
ground.  My  brothers,  of  course,  (for  what 
Christian  would  turn  informer  X)  refused  to 
confess  anything,  and  accord inglj-,  the  eldest 
was  taken  and  tied  to  a  car,  and  a  drummer- 
boy  proceeded  to  flog  him  at  a  desperate  rate, 
while  one  of  the  party,  to  give  him  light,  set 
fire  to  the  barn.  As  the  flames  mounted  up  to 
the  skies,  I  could  see  my  brother's  back,  hackled 
like  a  raw  griskin,  while  the  poor  fellow  re- 
fused to  jrratifv  his  murderers  with  a  sing-le 
groan.  My  mother  rushed  out,  and  falling  on 
her  knees,  beseeching  the  villains  to  forbear, 
but,  one  of  the  soldiers  gave  her  a  kick  in  the 
stomach,  and  stretched  her  on  the  pavement. 

" '  Knowing  how  soldiers  then  treated  young 
girls,  I  made  signs  to  my  sisters,  who  had 
come  to  the_  door,  to  shut  it,  and  remain  inside. 
They  did  so,  before  the  soldiers  could  prevent 
them;  and  one  of  them  having  seen  what  I  had 
done,  told  the  others,  and  in  a  minute  there 
were  a  dozen  stabs  in  my  body.  My  eldest 
brother  was  then  released,  and  the  other  tied 
up  in  his  place,  when  my  father,  who  had  re- 
covered, rushed  forward  and  seized  the  drum- 
mer's arm.  Poor  man  !  the  savages  had  no  pity 
.^D  his  tears,  and  he  received  several  stabs!' 


3^ 

"  Here  Denis  was  overpqwei'ed  by  his  feel- 
ings, and  after  hastily  wiping  away  one  or  two 
natural  drops  from  his  cheek,  continued. 

"  'I  was  now  questioned  about  united  men, 
and  arms,  and  as  I  also  refused  to  make  any 
discovery,  they  took  and  bound  my  hands  be- 
hind me,  and  then,  taking  the  halter  from  the 
mare's  head,  they  placed  it  round  my  neck,  and 
raising  the  car  up,  hung  me  out  of  the  back- 
band.  They  were  too  cruel  to  let  me  die  a 
natural  death,  and  so  cut  me  down  a  few 
minutes  afore  I  went  to  Paradise.  I  can't  tell 
anything  about  that  time,  but  my  ould  mother 
told  me  that  my  face  was  as  black  as  a  pot, 
and  my  tongue  a  handle  long.  The  first  thing 
I  recollect,  after  being  hanged,  was  to  see  the 
poor  ould  house  in  flames,  the  soldiers  having 
set  fire  to  it,  to  get  my  sisters  out,  but  they 
were  disappointed,  as  the  girls  had  made  their 
escape  while  they  w^ere  hanging  me. 

"  '  To  make  a  long  story  short,'  continued 
Denis,  '  my  father,  myself,  and  two  brothers, 
w^ere  thrown  into  the  cart,  and  marched  ofi'  to 
Ferns.  Next  day  my  father  died  in  the  guard- 
house ;  and  after  a  week's  confinement,  my 
brothers  and  I  were  turned  out  w^ith  pitched 
caps  upon  our  heads.*     We  had  now  no  house, 

*  It  is  saiil  that  the  North  Cork  Regiment  were  the  in- 
ventors— but  they  certainly  were  the  intruders  of  pitch- 
cap  torture  into  the  county  of  Wexford.  Any  person 
having  their  hair  cut  short,  (and  therefore  called  a  Crop- 
py, by  which  appellation  the  soldiery  designated  a  Uni- 
ted Irishman)  on  being  pointed  out  by  som.e  loyal  neigh- 
boar,  was  immediately  seized  and  brought  into  a  guard- 
house,   where    caps    either    of  coarse    linen,  or  strong 


34i 

JJO  home,  for  ray  father's  life  being  the  term  of 
the  lease,  the  landlord  had  seized  on  our  little 
all,  and  so  we  went  to  service,  as  did  my  sis- 
ters, my  mother  having  died  in  a  month  after 
my  father.  My  brothers  Avere  long  before  they 
recovered  ;  and  for  myself,  I'll  feel  the  effects 
fOf  that  bloody  night  to  the  day  of  my  death. 

"  The  tale  of  this  untutored  peasant,  told  in 
his  own  vulgar,  but  expressive  language,  pro- 
duced a  painful  interest  on  my  feelings,  while 
it  excited  my  indignation  to  that  degree  of 
frenzy,  which  made  me  instantly  determine 
upon  the  Quixotic  resolution  of  finding  out  the 
office  under  whose  command  the  family  of 
Howlan  had  been  tortured,  and  call  him  to  an 
account  or,  at  least,  expose  him  to  the  world. 
Filled  with  this  extravagant  notion,  I  inquired 
of  Denis,  as  we  walked  along,  where  the  North 
Cork  were  now  stationed. 

"  '  Lord  bless  your  honour,'  replied  Denis, 
'  there's  not  a  man  of  them  in  the  land  o'  the 
living,  for  I  was  at  the  killing  of  them  all  my- 
self— and  quick  work  we  made  of  it — on  Ou- 
lard  Hill.' 

'  Oh,  I  remember,'  said  I,  '  Mr.  J spoke 

of  your  generalship  there.     How  was  that  ^ 

brown  paper,  besmeared  inside  with  pitch,  were  kept  nl- 
ways  ready  lor  service.  Tlie  unfortunate  victim  had 
one  of  these,  well  heated,  compressed  on  his  head  :  and 
when  judged  of  a  proper  degree  of  coolness,  so  that  it 
could  not  easily  be  pulled  off,  the  sufferer  was  turned 
out  amidst  the  horrid  acclamations  of  the  merciless  tor 
turer?,  and  to  the  view  of  vast  numbers  of  people,  whc 
generally  crowded  to  the  guard-house  door,  attracJed  by 
Che  afflicting  cries  of  the  lormented. 


35 

**  *  Why/  replied  Denis,  '  when  I   went   to 
sarvice,  my  master  lived  in  the  very  parish  with 
Father  Murphy,  who,  God  bless  him,  coming 
'one  day  through  Ferns,  saw  theYeo's  shooting 
poor  Catholics  like  dogs,  trying  how  many  ot' 
tliem  a  musket-ball  would  sfO  througfh  at  once  ; 
so  in  the  evenins:  he   called  his  conorreofation 
together  in  the  chapel.     It  was  as  dark  as  bags, 
and  not  a  candle  liorhtnins"  to  show  us  the  wav 
to    say   our    prayers.     We  were  all  silent  as 
death,  and  you  could  hear  a  pin  drop  on  the 
floor  while  the  pri«st  was  speaking.     He  toulcl 
us  'twas  better  to  die  fighting  for  our  religion 
and  country,  than  be  butchered  like  sheep  by 
the    Orangemen.     He    said  what  was  Gospel, 
atid  faith  we  took  his  advice,  and  marched  in 
fine  order  after  him,  and  he  in  the  middle  of 
us  to  Oulard  Hill,  where  we  encamped  for  the 
night.     The  Yeo's  fled  like  murder  at  the  sight 
of  us,  for  they  are  the  greatest  cowards  in  the 
world,  and  sent  the  sogers  to  frighten  us  :  but 
faith,  their  day  was  passed,  and  once  we  burnt 
the  candle,  we'd  burn  the  inch.     When  the  red 
coats  appeared,  our  faces  were  all  manner  of 
colours,  and  many  proposed  to  runaway.  'No, 
no,'  says  I,  '  the  priest  and  God  is  with  us,  and 
what  have  we  to  fear  %     Here  is  a  ditch  and 
gravel  hole,  and  lie  in  them  till  the  sogers  come 
quite  close,  and  when  I  cry  out  Erin  go  hragh^. 
let  every  man  start  up,  and  use  his  pike.     My 
advijce  was  taken,  and  Father  Murphy  blessed 
us  all.     The  sogers  come  up,  sure  enough  with 
a   fellow  like  a  turkey   cock   strutting  before 
them  on  his  horse,  and  when^  they  came  quite 


36  . 

ii«ar  the  ditch,  he  went  behind  ihem,  and  we 
could  hear  the  words,  "  Ready,  present,  fire  !'* 
Pop,  pop,  pop,  went  their  muskets  ;  but  faith  I 
shouied  out  like  a  lion,  Erin  g;o  bra^h*  and  it 
would  do  your  heart  good  to  see  what  sport  we 
had.  They  weren't  a  breakfast  for  us,  and*  I 
had  the  pleasure,  thank  God,  of  sticking  my 
pike  into  the  rascally  lieutenant,  who  murdered 
myself  and  my  father." 

Government  had,  by  the  month  of  June,  dis- 
covered sufficient  to  quicken  its  diligence,  and 
the  officers  of  the  police  appeared  thencefor- 
ward more  alert  and  vigilant ;  notwithstanding 
which  it  was  difficult  to  brinff  them  to  believe 
that  the  project  of  insurrection  was  on  foot. 
This  state  of  delusion  continued  until  the  four- 
teenth of  July,  the  anniversary  of  the  French 
Revolution,  which  opened  the  eyes  of  many, 
and  excited  a  considerable  degree  of  alarm. 
Bonfires  were  publicly  made  in  commemora- 
tion of  that  event,  and  collections  of  people,  ap- 
parently strenuous  and  decided,  formed  and 
partook  in  the  festivity.  On  the  sixteenth,  the 
depot  of  powder  in  Patrick  Street  blew  up,  in 
Avhich  there  were  two  men  nearly  suffocated  ; 
one  of  whom,  in  throwing  up  the  window,  cut 
the  artery  of  his  arm,  and  bled  to  death,  the 
other  was  taken  prisoner.  Emmet  was  so 
alarmed  at  the  discoveries  this  explosion  would 
lead  to,  that  he  quitted  the  house  in  Butter- 
field-Lane,  and  took  up  his  permanent  residence 
at  the  depot  in  Mass-lane.  He  there  had  a 
■mattrass  to  sleep  on,  that  he  might  be  present 

•Hay's  History  ol'the  Insurrection  in  Wexford. 


37 

night  and  day  to  direct  and  animate  the  work 
men. 

The  interval  of  the  seven  days  ensuing  after 
the  explosion,  was  employed  by  Emmet  and  his 
sssociatcs  either  in  deliberating  on  the  propri- 
ety of  immediately  flying  to  arms,  or  in  con- 
certing the  most  practicable  mode  of  commen- 
cing their  operations.  It  was  ultimately 
agreed  upon  to  seize  the  several  depots  and  ar* 
senals  in  the  vicinity  of  Dublin  ;  and  above  all, 
it  was  universally  determined  to  gain  posses- 
sion of  the  castle,  as,  in  that  case,  it  was  sup- 
posed they  could  more  decidedly  influence  the 
public  mind  by  having  the  seat  of  government 
in  their  power. 

As  the  day  of  attack  approached,  the  greater 
part  of  Emmet's  adherents,  contemplating  their 
danger,  wished  to  defer  the  attempt.  Emmet, 
however,  was  peremptory  in  the  opposite  way 
of  thinking.  He  represented,  with  an  impetu- 
osity not  to  be  resisted,  that  the  militia  was 
about  to  be  embodied  ;  that  the  country  would 
be  placed  every  day  in  a  more  unassailable  pos- 
ture, and  by  its  multiplied  measures  of  defence, 
become  impregnable. 

The  reader  will  probably  not  be  displeiE.cd 
with  the  following  extract  from  the  pen  of  the 
same  writer  whom  we  hare  so  often  quoted,  as 
illustrative  of  the  kind,  generous,  and  unsus- 
pecting character  of  Emmet,  even  under  the 
most  difficult  and  trying  circumstances. 

*  I  learned  from  Denis  that  the  conspirators 
met  in  a  valley  not  far  from  where  we  were, 
and  that  he  was  hastening  to  join  them  :  I  sig- 

4 


38 

nificd  my  readiness  to  attend  him  ;  and,  as 
Denis  was  not  a  man  of  ceremony,  he  did  not 
stand  long  upon  punctilios,  but  immediately 
conducted  me  across  a  heathy  and  desolate  hill, 
towards  the  place  of  rendezvous. 

'  The  night  had  closed  around  us  as  we  ap- 
proached a  mountain  chasm,  and,  after  scram- 
bling through  a  rude  aperture 'in  a  stupendous 
rock,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  kind  of  natural 
recess,  formed  by  an  amphitheatre  of  surround- 
ins  hills,  whose  overhano-in^:  acclivities  frowned 
in  gloomy  horror  upon  the  little   valley.     Bj'' 
the  lio-ht  of  the  stars  we  could  discern   some 
persons,  who  had  entered  before  us,  proceeding 
towards  the  opposite  side,  and  we  accordingly 
followed  in  their  footsteps.     We  had  not   pro- 
ceeded far  when  the  voice  of  a  person  speaking 
fell  upon  our  ears,  and  I  had  not  to  listen  long 
before  1  recognized  the  deep,  but  harmonious 
accents  of  my  friend  Emmet,  as  he  addressed 
th-^  people  around  him,  who    appeared   to  be 
about    the    number    of    five    hundred.       His 
harangue  was  on  popular  topics,  of  Irish  griev- 
ances, and  he  spoke  with  a  fervency  of  manner 
that  showed  him  sincere  in  the  sentiments  he 
uttered.     When  he  concluded,  Malachy  took 
his  station,  and  proceeded  to  address  the  pea- 
santry.    I  could  not  but  observe  in  his  speech, 
superior    ingenuity.      Emmet   was   more   elo- 
qnent,  but  less  artful;  more  impassioned,  but 
less   logical.     There   was    sincerity   in   every 
word  he  uttered,  and  patriotism  appeared   to 
predominate  in  every  measure  he  recommended, 
whilst  humanity  breathed  throughout  his  dis 


course.  But  Malachy  addressed  himself  di- 
rectly to  the  passions,  and  so  intimately  blend- 
ed religion  with  politics,  that  his  auditors  could 
scarcely  suppress  the  operation  of  their  feel- 
ings, and  when  he  concluded,  an  involuntary 
burst  of  applause  followed. 

'  Denis,  who  had  listened  with  the  utmost  at- 
tention to  both  speakers,  now  took  me  by  the 
liand,  and  led  me  into  the  throng,  Malachy 
cast  his  eye  upon  me,  and  instantly  exclaimed, 
'A  Spy!' 

*  A  Spy ! '  was  re-echoed  by  a  hundred  voices, 
and  in  a  moment  the  deferential  horror  of  all 
present  caused  a  circle  to  be  formed  around  me, 
every  man  being  eager  to  get  as  far  as  possible 
from  what  he  considered  the  contagion  of  my 
presence. 

'  The  indignation  I  felt  at  Malachy's  imputa- 
tion for  a  moment  deprived  me  of  speech,  and 
felt  as  if  riveted  to  the  place,  when  Emmet 
kindly  stepped  fcrward  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 
'  My  friends,'  said  he,  '  there  is  some  mistake  ; 
Mr.  K is  a  young  man  of  liberal  princi- 
ples, and  high  notions  of  honour,  and  I  am  cer- 
tain that  he  is  incapable  of  betraying  our  secret, 
much  less  acting  as  a  spy  upon  our  proceed- 
ings.'— '  You  do  me  but  justice,'  I  replied,  '  for 
I  came  here  this  night  to  learn  if  your  cause 
was  such  as  required  or  deserved  the  assistance 
of  a  freeman's  arm,  and  not  basely  to  betray 
my  countrymen,  for  I  trust  those  that  surround 
me  will  not  refuse  me  the  fraternal  embrace  be- 
cause I  was  born  in  England,  while  my  parents 
nd  heart  were  ever  Irish."     This  remark  eli- 


40 

cited  much  applause,  and  I  proceeded :  '  I  trust 
that  the  person  who  has  imputed  such  a  base 
motive  to  my  presence  here  has  mistaken  me' — 

'  You  are  right,  Godfrey,'  interrupted  Mala- 
-^hy,  with  the  utmost  familiarity,  '  I  did  indeed 
mistake  you  for  another  person.' 

'  I  thought  as  much,'  said  Emmet,  and  let  us 
now  rejoice  that  our  cause,  the  noblest  in 
which  man  was  ever  engaged,  has  received  the 
acquisition  of  a  pure  spirit,  who  feels  indig- 
nant at  Qur  wroncjs,  and  who  burns  to  avensf© 
them. 

After  this  conference,  niany  of  his  partisans 
slunk  away,  and  declined  all  farther  participa- 
tion in  the  affair  j  others,  however,  and  those 
ihe  majority,  resolutely  determined  to  follow 
the  fortunes  of  their  beloved  leader,  and  declared 
that  they  would  not  desert  him  although  they 
advanced  with  the  certainty  of  utter  destruction 
to  themselves  or  their  cause.  The  die  was  cast, 
and  all  further  reflection  was  repelled  by  the 
ardour  and  firmness  of  resolution. 

Fortune,  on  this  occasion,  not  to  be  accused 
of  fickleness,  seems  never,  from  his  first  embark? 
ing  on  this  desperate  adventure,  to  have  been 
for  a  single  moment,  auspicious  to  the  devoted 
Emmet.  His  negociation  with  Dwyer  had 
failed,  and  a  plan,  even  more  specious,  and  on 
which  he  now  grounded  the  most  sanguine  hopes 
of  success,  proved  equally  fallacious.  A  part  of 
the  plan  of  general  attack  determined  upon, 
was  to  force  the  batteries  and  stores  at  the 
mouth  of  the  harbour  of  Dublin,  by  the  assist- 
ance of  thoFP  working  people  from  the  counties 


41 

of  Wicklow  and  Wexford,  who  in  the  months  of 
Jane  and  July,  repair  in  considerable  numbers, 
for  the  purpose  of  hay-making,  to  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Dublin.  The  minds  of  this  class  of  men 
appeared  by  no  means  more  softened,  nor  their 
passions  less  alive  to  every  motive  of  discon- 
tent, whether  real  or  imaginary,  than  they  were 
at  the  period  of  the  rebellion  in  1798,  which 
they  had  principally  supported  j  and  the  daring 
conduct  of  which  had  prepared  and  habituated 
them  for  similar  encounters ;  their  enmities 
were  fierce  and  vehement;  their  courage  and 
resolution  undoubted  ;  it  was  therefore  natural 
that  they  should  be  selected  as  most  useful  and 
valuable  auxiliaries.  For  some  time  they  had 
manifested  the  most  cordial  concurrence ;  but 
on  the  22d  of  July,  the  day  before  that  appoint- 
ed for  action,  they,  for  some  cause  unknown, 
formally  declared  their  abandonment  of  the 
design.  They  did  not,  however,  accompany 
their  refusal  with  any  discovery  of  the  plot. 

For  some  days  prior  to  the  23d  of  July,  Em- 
met passed  entirely  in  his  depot,  reposing  at 
night  on  a  mattress  thrown  upon  the  ground, 
amid  the  implements  of  death  which  he  had 
there  collected. 

In  a  back  house,  recommended  by  its  seclud- 
ed and  uninviting  situation,  were  about  a  dozen 
men  at  work  ;  some  busy  making  cartridges, 
while  others  were  casting  bullets  ;  some  fabrica- 
ting rockets,  and  others  making  pikes.  The 
heaps  of  muskets,  and  other  warlike  weapons, 
scattered  around,  served  to  inspire  a  feeling  of 
awe  in  the  gloomy  mansion  of  incipient  treason, 

4* 


42 

singularly  contrasted  with  the  thoughtless  lev- 
ity depicted  upon  the  half-intoxicated  counten- 
ances of  those  engaged  in  preparing  the  instru- 
ments of  death. 

My  friend,  on  seeing  all  safe,  could  not  con- 
ceal his  satisfaction  ;  and  having  distributed 
some  money  amongst  the  men,  he  dismissed 
them.  As  they  withdrew,  he  bolted  the  door, 
and  throwing  himself  upon  a  rude  seat,  seemed 
lost  in  the  intensity  of  his  feelings.  I  was  not 
less  serious ;  for  the  workmen,  the  arms,  and 
the  gloom  of  the  place,  had  deeply  afTected  my 
spirits,  and  brought  upon  my  mind  a  despond- 
ing impression,  not  unmixed  with  sensations  of 
fear. 

*'  My  friend,"  said  Emmet,  after  a  silence  of 
several  minutes,  "  how  ungrateful  are  mankind ! 
how  thoughtless  are  nations !     Tiie  philosopher 
is  neglected,  and  the  patriot  unhonoured;  yet, 
without  knowledge  and  liberty,  how  valueless 
all   the   possessions  of  man !     How  little  do 
those  who  profit  by  wisdom,  or  glory  in   the 
possession  of  freedom,  know  of  the  student's 
privations,    or    the  conspirator's  danger !  and 
without  study  and  treason,  how  few  could  be 
either  wise  or  free  %     Nations,  exulting  in  the 
enjoyment  of  their  rights,  but  too  often  forget 
those  to  whom  they  are  indebted  for  the  bless^ 
ing.     Englishmen   continually   boast   of  their 
liberty,  yet  how  many  Britons  are  the  names  of 
Sydney  and  Hampden  as  vague  as  those   of 
Gallitzin  and   William  Tell  1     The    sound  is 
familiar,  bat  it  scarcely  raises  a  single  associa 
tioQ. 


43 

*'  The  hope  of  applause,"  I  replied,  "  though 
it  may  stimulate  our  exertions,  should  never  be 
allowed  to  direct  our  actions,  and  he  that  is 
honoured  by  the  discerning  may  readily  dis- 
pense with  the  plaudits  of  the  vulgar-. 

"  True,"  he  returned  :  "  but  those  who  bene- 
fit mankind  may  at  least  expect  gratitude  ;  and, 
if  the  danger  encountered  by  the  patriot  may 
be  allowed  to  enhance  the  debt,  I  know  of  none 
who  has  so  large  a  demand  as  the  conspirator, 
whose  object  is  universal  good.  After  once  he 
imparts  his  schemes  to  others,  he  lives  in  con- 
tinual apprehension  ;  every  stranger  is  an  ob- 
ject of  suspicion ;  every  incident  is  pregnant 
with  danger.  The  mistakes  of  his  friends  may 
ruin  him,  and  a  concealed  enemy  may  lurk 
amongst  his  associates ;  for,  as  his  designs 
require  numerous  abettors,  it  is  very  dif- 
iicult  to  select  many  men  without  including 
some  traitor ;  and  one  informer  is  sufficient  to 
blast  all  his  hopes — as  a  single  spark  will  cause 
the  explosion  of  the  largest  powder  magazine. 
I  have  latterly  felt  so  acutely  the  uncertainty 
of  my  situation,  that  I  am  determined  to  hasten 
the  event  of  our  plan ;  for  any  conclusion 
would  be  preferable  to  protracted  suspense. 

"  I  know  not,"  I  replied,  "  whether  it  is  desi- 
rable to  persist  in  your  scheme,  for  the  reason- 
ing of  our  friend,  the  Exile,  never  appeared  to 
me  so  rational  as  since  I  entered  this  depot  of 
Kebellion.  A  thousand  thoughts  start  up  in 
my  mind,  which  I  can  neither  allay  nor  satis- 
factorily account  for.  These  scattered  instru- 
ments of  destruction  proclaim,  that  in  the  event 


4.4 

of  an  insurrection,  numbers  must  die;  but  how 
many  are  to  taste  the  bitterness  of  death  defies 
human  calculation.  Ourselves,  too,  may  be 
among  the  fallen,  and,  what  is  more,  the  cause 
may  be  unsuccessful. 

"  All  these,"  interrupted  Emmet,  "  depend 
upon  events  and  circumstances,  about  which 
we  can  know  nothing  positive  ;  'tis  for  us  only 
to  ascertain  the  probability  of  success,  and  to 
persevere  in  the  course  which  honour  and  duty 
point  cut.  Enough  for  us  to  know,  that  Ire- 
land requires  the  standard  of  revolt  to  be  raised 
by  some  one,  and  that  neither  defeat  nor  tri- 
umph can  add  to  or  diminish  our  consciousness 
of  rectitude.  Impediments  may  crowd  the  long 
perspective  before  us,  but  beyond  these  are  glory, 
honours,  and  immortaiity — rewards,  for  obtain- 
ing which  no  sacrifice  is  too  great — no  enter- 
prize  too  dangerous. 

"  Let  not,"  he  continued,  "  my  apprehensions, 
too  carelessly  expressed,  damp  the  ardor  of 
your  soul,  for  the  reasons  which  first  induced 
you  to  embark  in  this  best  of  causes  are  the 
same  now  as  then,  whatever  arguments  you 
may  have  heard  to  the  contrary.  We  are 
young  and  unincumbered  j  defeat  can  neither 
distress  our  friends  nor  ruin  ourselves,  for 
what  have  we  to  lose  but  lifel  And  life  is  held 
on  so  uncertain  a  tenure,  that  a  thousand  daily 
accidents  may  deprive  us  of  it,  and  that  too  so 
suddenly  and  so  soon  as  to  leave  our  memory 
without  an  accompanying  deed  to  keep  it  afloat 
,on  the  stream  of  time.     Admitting  for  an  in 


45 

slant  that  we  shall  (which  Heaven  forbid !)  be 
unsuccessful,  think  not  that  our  endeavours 
will  be  forgotten,  or  that  our  country  will  cease 
to  remember  us.  No,  my  friend,  the  tyrant 
laws  may  condemn  us,  and  tyrant  authority 
asperse  and  vilify  our  characters  ;  but  rely  on 
it  that  Irishmen  shall  reverence  the  names  of 
K and  Emmet  while  patriotism  has  admi- 
rers, or  Ireland  a  friend.  Our  country  has 
never  been  ungrateful,  and  so  few  have  been 
her  benefactors,  that  she  is  prodigal  of  thanks 
for  even  dubious  favours.  Of  us  she  can  have 
but  one  opinion,  for  ingenuous  enmity  cannot 
attribute  any  but  laudable  motives  to  our  de- 
signs. For  Ireland  I  will  spend  my  private 
fortune,  and  for  Ireland  I  shall,  please  God, 
venture  my  life.  Kosciusko  is  a  name  as  be- 
loved in  Poland  as  that  of  Washington  in 
America.  , 

"|But  reverse  this  gloomy  picture,  and  look 
— as   humanity    should    ever   look — upon   the 
bright  side  of  things  ;  for  defeat  does  not  al- 
ways  terminate   daring   enterprises.      Reflect 
upon  the  consequences  of  success  ;  our  enemies 
vanquished,  our  arms  triumphant,  and  Ireland 
free !     Our  names  associated  with  the  libera- 
tors of  nations,    and   ourselves   overwhelmed 
with  the  grateful  benedictions  of  an  emancipa- 
ted people.  Our  youth  will  mcrease  the  general 
wonder,    and   the    means   by  which  we   shall 
achieve  such  illustrious  actions  willaucrment  the 
pleasing  amazement.  Add  to  this  the  exalted  sta 
tions  we  shall  occupy,  and  the  joyful  approbation 
of  our  own  bosoms  ;  and  tell  me,  is  not  our  pres- 


4<G 

exit  situation,  taking  all  things  into  account, 
one  that  misfht  well  be  envied  1  Defeat  can- 
not  deprive  us  of  honor,  nor  death  of  glory  ; 
while  success,  if  obtained,  has  in  store  for  us 
all  those  rewards  which  ever  graced  the  most 
fortunate  of  mankind. 

"  Opportunities  for  great  actions,"  says  the 
moralist  "  occur  but  seldom,  and  surely  he  ill 
deserves  honour  who  lets  the  opportunity  pass 
when  it  presents  itself.  Glory  has  found  us, 
and  let  us  embrace  her ;  the  tide  of  our  affairs 
's  at  the  flood,  and  let  us  embark  upon  the 
waves  of  fortune :  we  are  all  attended,  and 
Heaven  seems  propitious.  A  thousand  years 
may  pass,  and  a  more  favourable  moment  may 
not  again  occur. 

"  What,  still  thoughtful  1     Oh,    I    see.  Miss 

J has  whispered  something  into  your  ear 

which  has  operated  unfavourably  upon  your 
mind.  Well,  I  can  excuse  you,  for  a  being  of 
such  perfect  loveliness  might  well  disturb  a 
hermit's  prayer,  though  I  will  not  allow  her  to 
divert  a  patriot's  purpose." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "you  ,will  not  pardon  Iovq 
m  a  conspirator!  " 

"  I  can  not  only  pardon  it,"  he  replied,  "  but 
sincerely  wish  that  the  tender  passion  may  be 
always  blended  with  the  amor  patrice,  for  he 
that  anticipates  the  commendation  of  a  beloved 
mistress,  can  never  act  dishonourably.  My 
friend,"  he  continued,  rising,  and  taking  me  by 
the  hand,  "  I,  too,  have  one  whose  praise  I  wish 
to  merit,  and  whose  exaltation,  next  to  my 
country,  is  the  first  wish  of  my  heart.     She  is 


/* 


7 


kind,  sjie  is  lovely,    and  Heaven  only  knows 
how  good !" — 

"  And  yet,"  I  interrupted,  "  you  wonld  fling 
away  this  jewel,  without  having  the  untutored 
Indian's  apology,  for  you  know  its  value." 

"  1  know  its  value,"  he  rejoined,  "  and,  be- 
cause I  know  it,  I  wish  to  place  it  where  its 
worth  may  be  appreciated.  -  The  stagnant  vale 
of  inglorious  ease  is  for  those  domestic  ena 
moured  souls  who  are  content  to  pass  a  life  of 
inactive  worthlessness,  and  who  wisii  to  enjoy 
affection  without  having  merited  love.  Mine  i« 
a  higher  ambition  :  I  must  make  myself  worthy 
of  the  woman  of  my  choice,  and  the  glory  which 
shed  its  lustre  on  the  husband  shall  reflect  its 
splendour  on  the  wife.  Heaven  forbid  that  an 
excusable  passion  should  thwart  the  great  de- 
sign of  my  life,  or  cause  me  for  an  instant  to 
neglect  my  country's  good,  for  the  purpose  of 
promoting  my  own  personal  advantage.  What 
earthly  possession  could  equal  the  glory  of 
havincr  freed  Ireland  from  foreis^n  domination '? 
and,  though  failure  might  partially  obstruct  its 
rays,  we  never  can  be  deprived  of  the  conscious- 
hees  of  having  deserved  it." 

His  magazine  was  by  no  means  despicable. 
It  comprised  the  following  warlike  implements  : 
l-iSlbs  of  cannon  powder,  in  bundles — eleven 
boxes  of  fine  powder — one  hundred  bottles  filled 
with  powder,  enveloped  with  musket  balls,  and 
covered  with  canvass — two  hundred  and  forty- 
six  hand  grenades,  formed  of  ink  bottles,  filled 
with  powder,  and  encircled  Avith  buck  shot — 
«ixty-two  thousand  rounds  of  musket  ball  car- 


48 


tridgc — three  bushels  of  musket  balls — a  quan- 
tity of  tow  mixed  with  tar  and  gunpowder,  and 
other  compustible  matter,  for  throwing  against 
wood  work,  which,  ^v;hen  ignited,  would  cause 
an  instantaneous  conflagration ;  sky  rockets, 
and  other  signals,  &c.,  and  false  beams  filled 
with  combustibles  ;  with  no  less  than  twenty 
thousand  pikes. 

This  super  abundance  of  ammunition  is  an 
evident  proof  of  Emmet  having  promises  of 
'iarge  supplies  of  men,  in  which  promises  he 
was  fatally  disappointed ;  for,  instead  of  having 
a  force  of  thousands  at  his  command,  he  could 
only  muster  a  few  hundred  on  the  evening  o£ 
engagement. 

On  the  ^orning  of  the  appointed  day  for  this 
momentous  enterprise,  the  Kildare  men  were 
seen  directing  their  hurried  steps  towards  the 
capital.  They  had  collected  about  the  depot  in 
Marshalsca-lane  and  Thomas-street,  in  unusua 
crowds,  when  about  five  o'clock  they  were  per 
suaded  by  their  officers  to  return  home.  This, 
with  the  defection  of  the  Wicklow  and  Wexford 
labourers,  would  have  deterred  a  less  ardent 
spirit  than  that  of  Emmet's  from  proceeding* 
His,  though  damped,  never  quailed  under  the 
danger  that  this  disappointment  was  likely  to 
brinof  on  him  and  his  followers. 

Towards  dusk  he  directed  the  distribution  of 
pikes  amongst  the  waiting  crowds  in  Thomas 
street,  and   proceeded  to  make  the  necessary 
arrangements  for  the  contemplated  attack. 

On  the  night  of  the  22d,  we  assembled  at  the 
depot,  and,  though  every  thing  wore  a  gloomy 


4.9 

aspect,  resolved  to  persevere.  The  diflerent 
leaders  received  their  instructions  ;  some  were 
to  assemble  their  forces  in  the  Barley  Fields,  now 
Mountjoy  Square,  some  on  the  Coal  Quay,  and 
others  in  different  parts  of  the  town.  These 
were  to  act  only  in  case  of  seeing  a  third  rocket, 
which  Emmet  was  to  send  up  when  he  consid- 
ered the  time  arrived  for  the  commencement  of 
hostilities.  Emmet,  Malachy,  Bryan,  and  I, 
were  to  head  the  forces  which  were  to  attack 
the  castle. 

Every  thing  being  thus  arranged,  I  bid  my 
companions  farewell  for  the  night,  and  returned 
to  my  lodgings.  I  could  sleep  but  little,  and 
when  I  awoke  the  next  morning,  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  on  the  eve  of  a  great  event,  filled 
my  mind  with  gloomy  apprehensions.  To  re- 
flect, however,  was  now  useless,  and  withcfut 
giving  my  thoughts  time  to  inform  against  my 
purpose,  I  hurried  to  the  depot,  where  I  found 
all  in  confusion.  The  place  was  thronged  by 
insurgents,  who  had  arrived  from  the  country, 
and  -whose  presence  served  to  obstruct  the 
workmen.  Malachy  and  Emmet,  with  astonish- 
ing firmness,  gave  directions  5  and  I  was  hand- 
ed the  printed  proclamation  to  read. 

As  I  looked  upon  the  expressive  counten- 
ances of  the  desperate  and  infatuated  men 
around  me,  I  could  not  resist  the  gloomy  pre- 
science which  the  scene  was  calculated  to  im- 
part. It  was  a  moment  I  would  not  wish  to 
2fo  throuorh  aorain,  there  was  so  much  of  fore- 
boding  evil — so  much  of  personal  misfortune 
to  be  apprehended — and  so  much  toil  and  peril 

5 


50 

which  must  be  endured,  whether  the  rebellion 
triumphed  or  was  crushed.  My  imagination, 
like  a  prism,  collected  all  the  rays  of  evil  from 
probable  discomfiture,  and  showed  me,  in  ag- 
gravated horror,  all  the  dangers  I  had  to  en- 
counter.  However,  to  recede  was  now  im- 
possible, without  incurring  the  imputation  of 
cowardice,  or  what  was  more  intolerable,  the 
suspicion  of  my  associates.  Actual  hostility 
was  preferable  to  either  of  these ;  and,  making 
a  virtue  of  necessity,  I  recalled  the  memory  ot 
those  conspirators  who  had  been  successful,  and 
fortified  my  resolution  by  anticipating  the  same 
fortune,  though  every  thing  around  might  have 
taught  a, rational  man  the  extravagant  folly  of 
hoping  to  subvert  a  powerful  government  with 
a  few  hundred  men,  partially  armed.  These, 
it  is  true,  we  thought,  had  only  to  raise  the 
standard  of  rebellion,  and  thousands  were 
ready  to  support  it,  but  in  future,  who  will 
rely  upon  the  promises  of  conspirators  V 

About  six  o'clock,  Emmet,  Malachy,  one  or 
two  others,  and  myself,  put  on  our  green  um^ 
form,  trimmed  with  gold-lace,  and  selected  our 
arms.  The  insurgents,  who  had  all  day  been 
well  plied  with  whiskey,  began  to  prepare  for 
commencing  an  attack  wpon  the  Castle  ;  and 
when  all  was  ready  ;  Emmet  made  an  animated 
address  to  the  conspirators.  At  eight  o'clock 
precisely,  we  sallied  out  of  the  depot,  and  when 
we  arrived  in  Thomas  Street,  the  insurgents 
gave  three  deafening  cheers. 

The  consternation  excited  by  our  presence 
defies  description.     Every  avenue  emptied  it?' 


51" 

curious  hundreds,  and  almost  erery  window 
exhibited  half  a  dozen  inquisitive  heads,  while 
peaceable  shopkeepers  ran  to  their  doors,  and 
beheld  with  amazement  a  lawless  band  of  awned 
insurgents,  in  the  midst  of  a  peaceable  city,  an 
hour  at  least  before  dark.  The  scene  at  first 
might  have  appeared  amusing  to  a  careless 
spectator,  from  the  singular  dubious  character 
which  the  riot  wore  j  but  when  the  rocket  as- 
cended, and  burst  over  the  heads  of  the  people, 
the  aspect  of  things  underwent  an  immediate 
and  wonderful  change.  The  impulse  of  the 
moment  was  self-preservation  ;  and  those  who, 
a  few  minutes  before,  seemed  to  look  on  with 
vacant  wonder,  now  assumed  a  face  of  horror, 
and  fled  with  precipitation.  The  wish  to  es- 
cape was  simultaneous,  and  the  eagerness  with 
w^hich  the  people  retreated  from  before  us  im- 
peded their  flight,  as  they  crowded  upon  one 
another  in  the  entrance  of  alleys,  courtways, 
and  lanes;  while  the  screams  of  women  and 
children  were  frightful  and  heart-rending. 

"  To  the  Castle !"  cried  our  enthusiastic 
leader,  drawing  his  sword,  and  his  followers  ap- 
pea^ed^  to  obey  ;  but  when  we  reached  the  Mar- 
ket-house our  adherents  had  wonderfully  di- 
minished, there  not  being  more  than  twenty  in- 
surgents with  us. 

"Fire  the  rocket !"  cried  Malachj?-. 

"Hold  awhile"  said  Emmet,  snatching  the 
match  from  the  man's  hand  who  was  about  ap- 
plying it.  "  Let  no  lives  be  unnecessarily  lost. 
Kun  back  and  see  what  detains  the  men." 

Malachy  obeyed  ;  and  we  remained  near  the 


52 

Market-house,  waiting  their  arrival  until  the 
soldiers  approached. 

"Our  cause  is  lost!"  exclaimed  Emmet, 
snatchino;  the  rockets  from  the  man's  hand  who 
carried  them,  and  trampling  them  under  his 
feet,  he  continued,  "  Let  our  friends  at  a  dis- 
tance escape  comrades  provide  for  your  own 
safety."    ' 

A  skirmish  now  ensued,  and  we  succeeded 
in  forcing  our  way  into  Francis-street,  but  had 
not  proceeded  far  before  we  saw  another  party 
of  soldiers  advancinsr  asrainst  us  from  the 
Coombe. 

"  This  way  sir!"  cried  a  voice  I  had  heard 
before,  and  Denis  Howlan  seized  my  arms,  and 
pulled  me  into  a  street  (Plunket-street  ;)  full  of 
old  clothes  shops.  About  a  dozen  doors  down 
w^e  turned  into  a  shop,  Denis  asked  as  we  en- 
tered, "Friend  or  foe  V  "Friend!"  cried  an 
old  man,  hurrying  us  into  a  back  parlour,  and 
then  up  stairs.  "  The  roof,  the  roof,"  he  whis- 
pered ;  and  accordingly  we  made  our  exit 
through  a  dorman  window.  In  the  gutter,  be- 
tw^een  the  houses,  we  found  three  men,  who  had 
sought  that  place  of  safety  ;  and,  having  also 
danger  to  apprehend,  w^e  took  like  them  a  re- 
cumbent posture. 

Throuorhout  the  niorht  our  ears  were  assailed 

o  o 

with  noises  like  those  of  a  town  suddenly  at- 
tacked— bells  ringing — drums  beating,  and  all 
the  clamor  of  war — while  an  occasional  shot 
announced  that  our  danger  was  not  over.  My 
companions  sent  up  incessant  prayers  for  the 
safety  of  their  enthusiastic  leader,   and,  as  I 


53 

loved  the  man,  I  heartily  joined  in  their  obser- 
vations. 

It  was  during  the  progress  of  the  insurgents 
from  the  depot,  that  the  attention  of  the  rear 
was  diverted  by  the  arrival  of  an  equipage  ;  a 
moment's  enquiry  satisfied  the  mob  it  was  that 
of  the  lord  chief  justice  of  Ireland.  A  halt  was 
instantly  called,  disorder  and  tumult  prevailed  ; 
the  heads  of  the  advancing  party  immediately 
returned  upon  their  steps,  and  the  massacre  of 
the  venerable  Lord  Kilwarden  was  called  for 
and  committed  by  some  cold-blooded  ruffians 
amonsfst  them ! 

It  is  universally  agreed  that  the  murder  of 
this  excellent  man  was  the  unpremeditated  act 
of  a  ferocious  rabble  ;  but  there  are  various  ac- 
counts of  their  probable  motives  in  wantonly 
sacrificing  so  upright  and  humane  a  judge  to 
their  fury.  A  popular  explanation  of  this  is, 
that  the  perpetrators  mistook  him  for  another 
person.  There  is  also  an  account  which  ad- 
.mits  the  mistake  in  the  first  instance,  but  sub- 
joins other  particulars,  which  appear  sufficiently 
probable  ;  and  as  some  of  the  facts,  of  which 
there  is  no  doubt,  reflect  the  highest  honour 
upon  Lord  Kilwarden's  memory,  the  whole 
shall  be  here  given. 

In  the  year  1795,  when  he  was  attorney 
general,  a  number  of  young  men  (all  of  whom 
were  between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and  twenty) 
were  indicted  for  high  treason.  Upon  the  day 
appointed  for  their  trial,  they  appeared  in  the 
dock  wearing  shirts  with  tuckers  and  open  col- 
lars, in  the  manner  usual  with  boys.     When 

5* 


54 

the  chief  justice  of  ihe  King's  Bench,  before 
whom  they  were  to  be  tried,  came  into  court, 
and  observing  them,  he  called  out,  "  Well,  Mr. 
Attorney,  I  suppose  you're  ready  to  go  on  with 
the  trials  of  these  tuckered  traitors  1"  The  at- 
torney-general was  ready,  and  had  attended  for 
the  purpose ;  but  indignant  and  disgusted  at  hear- 
ing such  language  from  the  judgment  seat,  he 
rose  and  replied,  "  No,  my  lord,  I  am  not  ready ; 
and  (added  he,  in  a  low  tone  to  one  of  the  pris- 
oner's counsel  who  was  near  him)  if  I  have  any 
power  to  save  the  lives  of  these  boys,  whose  ex- 
treme youth  I  did  not  before  observe,  that  man 
shall  never  have  the  gratification  of  passing  sen- 
tence upon  a  singlfe  one  of  those  tuckered  trait- 
ors." He  performed  his  promise,  and  soon 
after  procured  pardons  for  them  all,  upon  the 
condition  of  their  expatriating  themselves  for 
ever  j  but  one  of  them  obstinately  refusing  to 
accept  the  pardon  upon  that  condition,  he  was 
tried,  convicted  and  executed.  Thus  far  the 
fact  upon  credible  authorities  ;  what  follows  is 
given  as  an  unauthenticated  report.  After  the 
death  of  thi^  young  man,  his  relatives,  it  is  said, 
readily  listening  to  every  misrepresentation 
which  flattered  their  resentment,  became  per- 
suaded that  the  attorney-general  had  selected 
him  alone  to  suffer  the  utmost  severity  of  the 
law.  One  of  these,  (a  person  named  Shannon) 
was  an  insurgent  on  the  23d  of  July,  and  when 
Lord  Kilwarden,  hearing  the  popular  cry  of  ven- 
geance, exclaimed  from  his  carriage,  "  It  is  I 
Kilwarden,  chief  justice  of  the  King's  Bench!" 
*'  Then !"  cried  out  Shannon,  "  you're  the  man 


55 

that  /  want !"  and  plung^ed  a  piUe  into  his  lord- 
ship's body. 

It  was  at  this  period,  it  is  asserted,  that  Mr. 
Emmet,  and  the  other  leaders,  who  had  been 
somewhat  more  than  an  hour  engaged  in  a  task 
far  beyond  their  powers,  retired  in  despair  at 
finding  all  command  disregarded,  all  efforts  to 
produce  subordination  ineffectual ;  and  their  far 
vorite  project  of  seizing  the  castle  rejected  for 
the  slightest  opportunity  that  occurred  of  in- 
dulging the  predatory  disposition  of  their  asso- 
ciates to  rapine  and  murder.  It  has  been  urged 
m  their  favour,  that  shocked  and  disgusted  at 
the  murder  of  Lord  Kilwarden,  the  chiefs  in- 
stantaneously came  to  the  resolution  of  aban- 
doning their  unprincipled  followers. 

A  detachment  of  the  regular  army  coming  up 
now,  ^commenced  a  brisk  fire  on  the  remaining 
insurgents,  and  obliged  them,  after  a  short  re- 
sistance, to  seek  safety  in  flight.  A  party  of 
soldiers,  stationed  at  the  Coombe,  under  Lieu- 
tenant Douglas,  was  attacked  by  the  mob  who 
were  retiring  from  Thomas-street,  and  made  to 
give  way  after  a  severe  skirmish.  At  this  at- 
tack the  bravery  of  a  venerable  old  man  shone 
conspicuous ;  his  son  was  attacked  and  sorely 
pressed  by  the  bayonet  of  one  of  the  soldiers, 
and  would  inevitably  have  been  sacrificed,  had 
not  the  parent,  who  saw  his  danger,  stept  in  and 
received  the  blow  intended  for  the  son. 

The  soldier  suffered  the  fate  he  gave  ;  he  was 
piked  instantaneously  by  the  infuriate  youth, 
who  retired  with  agonized  feelings,  leaving  the 
two  bodids  side  by  side, — sad  mementos  of  the 


56 

effects  of  bad  laws  and  misgovernment.  It  was 
never  exactly  known  the  numbers  of  lives  lost 
on  this  night ;  it  is  supposed,  however,  there 
could  not  be  less  than  eighty,  including  the  loss 
on  both  sides.  Emmet  fled  to  the  mountains ; 
he  arrived  in  time  to  prevent  a  contemplated 
rising  of  the  insurgents.  Immediately  after,  he 
and  the  other  leaders  in  the  conspiracy  met  in  a 
glen  in  the  Wicklow  mountains,  to  consult  o-n 
plans  of  future  operations. 

"  We  had  just  gained  the  ascent  of  a  lofty 
hill,  on  our  way  to  the  place  of  meeting,  when 
a  shrill  whistle,  apparently  not  far  distant, 
brought  us  to  a  full  stop,  and  in  an  instant,  a 
dozen  men  started  up,  as  if  by  some  magical 
agency  from  the  heath  around  us.  "  Your 
name  and  business  1"  demanded  a  gloomy-look- 
ing figure  who  stood  before  us,  wrapped  up  in 
a  great  cloak. 

"  Our  names  and  business  1"  repeated  Denis  : 
*  maybe  we've  neather  j  what  would  you  have 
then  r 

"Your  life!"  replied  our  interrogator,  apr 
proaching  us  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand. 
"Hold!"  exclaimed  a  man  rushing  between 
us,  "these  are  friends.  You  spalpeen^  don't 
you  know  Denis  Howlan  V 

"  Faith,  Captain  Dwyer,"  said  my  compan 
ion,    with  the  utmost  sang  froid,  "  it  just   is 
Denis  Howlan  himself,  and  this  is  a  real  friend 
of  Giniral   Emmet,    though  it   is  not  himselt 
that's  in  it  as  he  hasn't  got  on  his  own  clothes." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  replied  Dwyer,  "hast- 
»xk  to  the  glen.    The  council  are  meeting,  and 


57 

i  am  here  to  prevent  intruders — pass  on — good 
night — Babes*  to  your  cover." 

In  the  glen,  as  the  outlaw  had  informed  us, 
we  found  several  persons  assembled  ;  and  when 
my  name  was  announced,  one  of  them  advan- 
ced from  a  circle  formed  round  him,  and  seiz- 
ed my  hand — it  was  the  unfortunate  enthusiast, 
Robert  Emmet.  His  manner  was  most  kind 
and  affectionate,  and  he  congratulated  me,  with 
every  demonstration  of  sincerity,  on  my  escape 
from  the  slaughter  of  the  preceding  evening. 
He  lamented  the  fate  of  Malachy  and  Bryan, 
and  seemed  deeply  affected  at  the  discomfiture 
of  his  scheme. 

I  soon  learned  that  my  friend,  with  some 
others,  had  escaped  to  these  hills  on  Saturday 
night,  in  time  to  prevent  a  contemplated  rising 
of  the  insurgents  ;  and  had  met,  this  evening, 
the  leaders  in  the  conspiracy,  to  consult  on 
plans  of  future  operations.  Most  of  them  re- 
commended vigorous  measures  ;  and  strenuous- 
ly advised  an  immediate  attack  on  Wicklow, 
Arklow,  &c.  stating  that  all  the  kingdom  was 
ripe  for  revolt.  The  time  had  passed  for  Em- 
met to  credit  such  sweeping  assertions,  and 
though  he  did  not  contradict  his  friends,  he 
unhesitatingly  condemned  the  having  any  fur- 
ther recourse  to  hostilities.  "  For,"  said  he, 
"  defeated  in  our  first  grand  attempt,  all  .fur- 
ther endeavours  must  be  futile.     Our  enemies 

*  The  rebel  outlaws,  who  took  up  their  abodes  in  the 
mountains  and  fastnesses  of  Wexford  and  Wicklow,  after 
1798,  ludicrously  called  themselves  "  The  Babes  of  the 
Wood. 


58 

are  armed  ;  our  friends  are  dispirited  ;  and  our 
only  hope  is  now  in  patience.  The  justice  of 
our  cause  must  one  day  triumph,  and  let  us 
not  indiscreetly  protract  the  period  by  any  pre- 
mature endeavours  to  accelerate  it.  No  doubt 
1  could,  in  forty-eight  hours,  wrap  the  whole 
kingdom  in  the  flames  of  rebellion ;  but  as  I 
have  no  ambition  beyond  the  good  of  my  coun- 
try, best  study  her  interest,  and  the  interest  of 
freedom,  by  declining  to  elevate  my  name  upon 
the  ruin  of  thousands,  and  afford  our  tyrants  an 
apology  to  draw  another  chain  around  unhappy 
Ireland.  In  revolts,  the  first  blow  decides  the 
contest, — we  have  aimed  one,  and  missing  the 
mark,  let  us  retire  unobserved,  and  leave  the 
enemy  ignorant  of  the  hand  that  was  raised  for 
their  destruction.  Impenetrable  secrecy  sur- 
rounds all  our  measures  ;  the  loss  we  have  sus- 
tained is  inconsiderable ;  and,  unacquainted 
with  their  own  danger,  and  the  extent  of  our 
resources,  the  tyrants  of  Ireland  will  relapse 
into  false  security,  and  afford  us,  perhaps, 
sooner  than  we  imagine,  another  opportunity  to 
attack  the 'hydra  of  oppression.  Let  me,  there- 
fore, my  friends,  advise  you  to  act  with  that 
prudence  which  becomes  men  engaged  in  the 
ofrandest  of  all  causes,  the  liberation  of  their 
country.  Be- cautious,  be  silent,  and  do  not 
afford  our  enemies  any  ground  for  either  tyran- 
ny or  suspicion ;  but,  above  all,  never  forget 
that  you  are  United  Irishmen^  sworn  to  promote 
the  liberty  of  your  country  by  all  the  means  in 
your  power. 

"  1  have  now  relieved  my  bosom  from  a  load 


59 

of  apprehension,  and  in  preventing  the  revolt  of 
last  night  from  assuming  the  form  of  rebellion, 
I  am  conscious  of  having  saved  the  lives  of 
thousands  of  my  fellow-countrymen.  Wheiv 
the  libeller  of  my  name  and  intentions  shall 
charge  the  blood  of  yesterday  to  my  memory, 
I  hope  there  will  not  be  wanting  some  one  to 
recollect,  that  if  a  little  has  been  shed  through 
my  means,  I  have  saved  the  effusion  of  one 
hundred  times  as  muclt,  on  which  I  might  have 
floated  to  a  disreputable  notoriety. 

"  Over  my  future  destiny  Fate  has  thrown  a 
veil  which  mortal  eyes  cannot  penetrate.  Should 
I  succeed  in  evading  the  pursuit  of  my  enemies, 
you  may  expect  to  see  me  once  more  armed  in 
the  cause  of  Ireland ;  but  should  I  fall  on  the 
scaffold,  let  not  the  coward  or  the  knave  intimi- 
date you  from  again  and  again  appealing  to 
Heaven  in  behalf  of  your  rights  and  liberties  by 
appealing  to  my  recent  failure.  Oh  !  I  beseech 
you,  as  friends  and  fellow-patriots,  to  believe 
me,  and  in  the  name  of  our  common  country  I 
charge  you  to  transmit  it  to  your  children,  that, 
had  I  only  one  thousand  pounds  more,  and 
another  thousand  men,  I  had  overthrown  the 
temple  of  despotism,  and  given  liberty  to  Ire- 
land. ^M-Y  plan  was  an  admirabile  one,  but  there 
was  failure  in  every  part,  and  from  these  de- 
fects let  future  patriots  learn  to  prevent  similar 
consequences.  Our  attempt  will  not  be  unpro- 
ductive of  good  ;  our  government  will  learn 
from  it,  that  they  will  never  be  secure  while 
an  Emmet  is  in  existence,  and  the  conspirator 
will  see,  that  tens  of  thou'^ands   rany  know  his 


60 

secret  without  even  one  beino^  found  capable  of 
betraying  it.  Gentlemen,  you  will  now  look 
to  your  own  safety,  and  as  for  me,  I  shall  do 
the  best  I  can  to  quit  the  country,  in  the  hope 
of  again  meeting  you  under  more  happy  aus- 
pices."/ 

He  spoke  in  a  subdued  and  feeling  tone,  and 
as  he  bade  them  all  farewell,  he  appeared  deep- 
ly affected.  After  some  hesitation,  his  advice 
was  acquiesced  in,  and  the  assembly  began  to 
separate,  two  and  three  at  a  time. 

Emmet  was  now  pressed  to  make  his  escape 
before  government  obtained  information  re- 
specting his  place  of  concealment ;  an  oppor- 
tunity then  offered  of  his  doing  so,  as  several 
fishing  smacks  lay  off  the  coast,  the  owners  of 
which  were  insurgents.  He  replied  to  his 
friends  who  were  pressing  him  : — 

"  I  shall  follow  your  advice  in  a  few  days  ^ 
but  I  cannot  yet  quit  Ireland.  Excuse  my 
obstinacy,  but  there  is  one  to  whom  I  must  bid 
an  eternal  farewell,  before  the  terrors  of  govern-- 
ment  shall  force  me  into  exile.  Why  should  I- 
refuse  to  acknowledge  the  cause  1  for  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  a  weakness  that  compels  me  to  do- 
an  act  of  justice — to  beg,  and,  if  possible,  to 
obtain  forgiveness  from  a  woman  whom  I  have 
unintentionally  injured — whom  I  have  loved  so 
well,  that  I  must  once  more  see  her,  hear  her, 
and  converse  with  her,  though  ten  thousand 
deaths  awaited  on  the  interview.  You  now  see, 
my  friends,  the  cause  of  my  not  complying 
with  your  advice,  and  though  you  should  con- 
demn my  notions  as  extrtwagnnt,  T  cnnnot  con' 
sent  to  forego  my  resolution. 


61 

The  lady  to  whom  poor  Emmet  was  so  en- 
thusiastically attached,  was  the  youngest  daugh- 
ter of  the  celebrated  Curran  ;  and,  if  report  may- 
be credited,  she  w^as  every  way  worthy  of  a 
heart  so  fond,  so  gentle  and  so  noble,  as  that  of 
Robert  Emmet. 

Emmet  returned  towards  Dublin  on  this  very 
romantic  business.  To  brinor  about  the  wished- 
for  interview,  he  wrote  several  letters  from  his 
lodgings  at  Harold's  Cross,  which  he  again 
took  on  this  occasion. 

While  anxiously  expecting  an  answer  to  his 
letter,  the  house  he  was  in  was  suddenly  sur- 
rounded by  police  officers,  headed  by  Major 
Sirr,  who,  rushing  into  the  apartment,  seized 
him  as  he  was  sittinor  down  to  dinner. 

Mr.  Curran,  in  the  case  of  Hevey  v.  Sirr, 
thus  characterizes  this  notorious  individual: — 

It  was  at  this  sad  crisis  (1798)  that  Major 
Sirr,  from  an  obscure  individual,  started  into 
notice  and  consequence.  It  is  in  the  hot-bed 
of  public  calamity  that  such  inauspicious  pro- 
ducts are  accelerated  without  being  matured. 
From  being  a  town-major,  a  name  scarcely  legi- 
ble in  the  list  of  public  incumbrances,  he  be- 
came all  at  once  invested  with  all  the  real  pow- 
ers of  the  most  absolute  authority. 

With  this  gentleman's  extraordinary  eleva- 
tion began  the  story  of  the  sufferings  and  ruin 
of  Hevey.  A  man  was  prosecuted  by  the  state ; 
Hevey,  who  was  accidently  present  at  the  trial, 
knowing  the  witness  for  the  prosecution  to  be  a 
person  of  infamous  character,  mentioned  the 
eircum stance  in  court.     He  was  sworn,  and  on 

6 


6^ 

His  evidence  the  prisoner  was  acquitted.     In  A 
day  or  two  after,  Major  Sirr  met   Hevey  in  the 
street,  asked  how  he  dared  to   interfere   in  his 
business  1  and  swore,  by  G — d,  he  would  teach 
him  how  to  meddle  with  '  his  people.'     On  the 
following  evening  poor  Hevey  was  dogged  in 
the  dark  into  some  lonelj'  alley — there  he  wis 
seized,  he  knew  not  by  whom,  nor  what  autho- 
rity— his  crime  he  soon  learned  :  it  was  trea- 
son he  had  committed  against  the  majesty  of 
Major  Sirr.     He  w^as  immediately  conducted  to 
a  place  of  imprisonment   in   the   castle   yard, 
called  the  provost.     Of  this  mansion  of  misery, 
Major  Sandys  was   the    keeper.     Here  Hevey 
lay  about  seven  weeks,  he  was  at  last  discovered 
among  the  sweepings  of  the  prison.     '  Hevey,' 
said  the  Major,  *  1  have  seen  you  ride,  a  smart 
bit  of  a  mare — you  can't  use  her  here — you  had 
better  give  me  an  order  for  her.'     Hevey,  indue 
ed  by  hopes  and  by  fear,  gave  the  Order.     The 
major  accepted  the  order,  saying,  '  your  cour- 
tesy will  not  cost  you  much — you  are  to  be  sent 
down  to-morrow  to  Kilkenny,  to  be  tried  for  your 
life — you  will   most  certainly  be  hanged,  and 
you  can  scarcely  think  that  your  journey  to  the 
other  world  will  be   performed   on   horseback. 
Hevey   was   accordingly   transmitted   to   Kil- 
kenny, tried  by  a  court  martial,  and  convicted 
upon  the  evidence  of  a  person  under  sentence 
of  death,'  who  had  been  allured  by  a  proclama- 
tion, offering  a  reward  to  any  man  who  would 
come  forward  and  give  any  evidence   against 
the  traitor  Hevey.     Lord  Cornwallis  read  the 
transmiss  of  Hevey's  condemnation — his  heart 

0  •  . 


63 

recoiled  from  the  detail  of  stupidity  and  bar- 
barity.  He  dashed  his  pen  across  the  odious 
record,  and  ordered  that  Hevey  should  be  forth- 
with liberated.  On  his  return  to  Dublin^ 
Hevey  met  Major  Sandys,  and  demanded  his 
mare :  '  Ung-rateful  villain,*  says  the  Major,  *  is 
this  the  gratitude  you  show  to  his  majesty  and 
to  me,  for  our  clemency  to  you — you  shan't  get 
possession  of  the  beast.'  Hevey  brought  an  ac- 
tion for  the  mare  ;  the  major,  not  choosing  lo 
come  into  court  and  suggest  the  probable  suc- 
cess of  a  thousand  actions,  restored  the  pro- 
perty. 

Three  years  had  elapsed  since  the  deliverance 
of  Hevey — the  public  atmosphere  has  cleared — 
the  pirivate  destiny  of  Hevey  seemed  to  have 
brightened,  but  the  malice  of  his  enemies  had 
not  been  appeased.  On  the  8th  of  September, 
1801,  Mr.  Hevey  was  sitting  in  a  public  cofTee 
house — Major  Sirr  was  there — Mr.  Hevey  was 
informed  that  Major  Sirr  had  at  that  moment 
said,  that  he  (Hevey)  ought  to  have  been  hang^ 
,ed.  Mr.  Hevey  was  fired  at  the  charge  ;  he 
fixed  his  eye  on  Sirr,  and  asked  if  he  had  dared 
to  say  so'?  Sirr  declared  that  he  had,  and  had 
said  truly.  Hevey  answered,  that  he  was  a 
slanderous  scoundrel.  At  the  instant  Sirr  rush- 
ed upon  him,  and  assisted  by  three  or  four  of 
his  satellites,  who  had  attended  him  in  disguise, 
secured  him,  and  sent  him  to  the  castle  guar^, 
desiring  that  a  receipt  might  be  given  for  the 
villain. — He  was  sent  thither.  The  oflicer  of 
the  guard  chanced  to  be  an  Englishman,  but 
lately  arrived  in  Ireland — he  said  to  the  bailifTs, 


G4. 

*  If  this  was  ill  England,  I  should  think  this 
gentleman  entitled  to  bail,  but  I  don't  know 
the  laws  of  this  country — however,  I  think  you 
had  better  loosen  those  irons  on  his  wrists,  or 
they  may  kill  him.' 

Major  Sirr,  the  defendant,  soon  arrived,  went 
into  his  office,  and  returned  with  an  order  which 
he  had  written,  and  by  virtue  of  which  Mr. 
Hevey  was  conveyed  to  his  old  friend  and  g'aol- 
er,  Major  Sandys.  Here  he  was  flung  into  a 
room  of  about  thirteen  feet  by  twelve — it  was 
called  tlie  hospital  of  the  provost — it  was  oc- 
cupied by  six  beds,  in  which  were  to  lie  four- 
teen or  fifteen  miserable  wretches,  some  of  them 
sinkino^  under  contagious  disorders.  Here  he 
passed  the  first  night  without  bed  or  food.  The 
next  morninor  his  humane  keeper,  the  major, 
appeared.  Mr.  Hevey  demanded  why  he  was 
so  imprisoned,  complained  of  hunger  and  asked 
for  the  gaol  allowance.  Major  Sandys  replied 
with  a  torrent  of  abuse,  which  he  concluded  by 
saying, — ^your  crime  is  your  insolence  to  Major 
Sirr;  however,  he  disdains  to  trample  on  you, 
— you  may  appease  him  by  proper  and  contrite 
submission  ;  but  unless  you  do,  you  shall  rot 
where  you  are.  1  tell  you  this,  that  if  govern- 
ment will  not  protect  us,  by  G — d,  we  will  not 
them.  You  will  probably  (for  I  know  your  in- 
«olent  and  ungrateful  hardiness)  attempt  to  get 
out  by  an  habeas  corpus,  but  in  that  you  will 
find  yourself  mistaken  as  much  as  a  rascal  de- 
serves.' Hevey  was  insolent  enough  to  issue 
an  habeas  corpus,  and  a  return  was  made  on  it, 

*  That  Hevey  was  in  custody  under  a  warrant 


65 

from  General  Graig,  on  a  charge  of  high  trea- 
son.' That  the  return  was  a  gross  falsehood, 
fabricated  by  Sirr,  I  am  instructed  to  assert. 
The  judge,  before  whom  this  return  was  brought, 
felt  that  he  had  no  authority  to  liberate  the  un- 
happy prisoner  ;  and  thus,  by  a  most  inhuman 
and  malicious  lie,  my  client  was  again  remand- 
ed to  the  horrid  mansion  of  pestilence  and 
famine.  Upon  this,  Mr.  Hevey,  finding  that 
nothing  else  remained,  signed  a  submission 
dictated  by  Sandys,  was  enlarged  from  confine- 
ment, and  brought  the  present  action. 

The  jury  awarded  Mr.  Hevey  150/.  damages. 

The  unfortunate  Emmet  betrayed  no  tokens 
of  fear  or  perturbation,  but  evinced  the  same 
calm  and  dignified  aspect  which  ever  distin- 
guished this  extraordinary  young  man. 

A  few  days  after,  he  wrote  Mr.  Curran  the 
following  letter. 

From  Mr,  Robert  Emmet  to  John  Philpot 
Curran^  Esq. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to  be  my  counsel.  I 
nominated  you,  because  not  to  have  done  so 
might  have  appeared  remarkable.  Had  Mr.  — — 
been  in  town,  I  did  not  even  wish  to  have  seen 
you,  but  as  he  was  not,  I  wrote  to  you  to  come 
to  me  at  once.  I  know  that  I  have  done  you  a 
very  severe  injury,  much  greater  than  I  can 
atone  for  with  my  life ;  that  atonement  I  did 
offer  to  make  before  the  privy  council,  by  plead- 
ing guilty,  if  these  documents  were  suppressed. 
I  offered,  if  I  were  permitted  to  consult  some 

6* 


66 

persons,  and  if  they  would  consent  to  an  a»- 
commodation  for  saving  the  lives  of  others,  that 
I  would  only  require  for  my  part  of  it  the  sup- 
pression of  those  documents,  and  that  I  would 
abide  the  event  of  my  own  trial.  ,  This   also 
was  rejected,  and  nothing  but  individual  infor- 
mation, (with  the  exception  of  names)  would  be 
taken.     My  intention  was,  not  to  leave  the  sup 
pression  of  those  documents  to  possibility,  but 
to  render  it  unnecessary  for  any  one  to  plead 
for  me,  by  pleading  guilty  to  the  charge  myself. 
"  The  circumstances  that  I  am  now  going  to 
mention,  I  do  not  state  in  my  own  justification. 
When  I  first  addressed  your  daughter,    I    ex- 
pected that  in  another  week  my  own  fate  would 
be  decided.     I  knew  that  in   case   of  success, 
many  others  might  look  on  me  differently  from 
what  they  did   at  that  moment  -,  but  I  speak 
with  sincerity,  when    I    say  that  I  never  was 
anxions  for  situation  or  distinction  myself,  and 
1  do  not  wish  to  be  united  to  one  who  was.     I 
spoke  to  your  daughter,  neither  expecting,  nor, 
in  fact,  under  such  circumstances,  washing  that 
there  should  be  a  return  "of   attachment  ;  but 
wishing  to  judge  of  her  dispositions,  to  know 
how   far   they    might  not  be    unfavourable  or 
disengaged,  and   to  know   what    foundation  I 
might  afterwards  have  to  count  on.     I  received 
no  encouragement  whatever.     She  told  me  she 
had  no  attachment  for  any  person,  nor  did  she 
seem  likely  to  have   any   that  could  make  her 
wish  to  quit  you.     I  staid  away  till   the  time 
had  elapsed  when  I  found   that  the  event  to 
>vhirh  I  allude  was  to  be  postponed  indefinitely. 


67 

I  returned  by  a  kind  of  infatuation,  thinking* 
that  to  myself  only  was  I  giving  pleasure  or 
pain.  I  perceived  no  progress  of  attachment 
on  her  part,  nor  anything  in  her  conduct  to  dis- 
tinguish me  from  a  common  acquaintance.  Af- 
terwards I  had  reason  to  suppose  that  dis- 
coveries were  made,  and  that  I  should  be  obli- 
ged to  quit  the  kingdom  immediately  :  and 
I  came  to  make  a  renunciation  of  any  ap- 
proach to  friendship  that  might  have  been  form- 
ed. On  that  very  day  she  herself  spoke  to  me 
to  discontinue  my  visits  ;  I  told  her  it  was  my 
intention,  and  I  mentioned  the  reason.  I  then, 
for  the  first  time,  found  I  was  unfortunate,  by 
the  manner  in  which  she  was  affected,  that 
there  was  a  return  of  affection,  and  that  it  was 
too  late  to  retreat.  My  own  apprehensions, 
also,  I  afterwards  found,  were  without  cause, 
and  I  remained.  There  has  been  much  culpa- 
bility on  my  part  in  all  this,  but  there  has  also 
been  a  great  deal  of  that  misfortune  which 
seems  uniformly  to  accompany  me.  That  I 
have  written  to  your  daughter  since  an  unfor- 
tunate event  has  taken  place,  was  an  additional 
breach  of  propriety,  for  which  1  have  suffered 
well ;  but  I  will  candidly  confess,  that  I  not 
only  do  not  feel  it  to  have  been  of  the  same  ex- 
tent, but  that  I  consider  it  to  have  been  una- 
voidable, after  what  had  passed  ;  for  though  I 
will  not  attempt  to  justify,  in  the  smallest  de- 
gree, my  former  conduct,  yet  when  an  attach- 
ment was  once  formed  between  us — and  a  sin- 
cerer  one  never  did  exist — I  feel  that,  pecu- 
Jiarly  circumstanced  as  I  then  was,  to  have  left 


68 

licr  uncertain  of  my  situation  would  neither 
have  weaned  her  affections,  nor  lessened  her 
anxiety  5  and  looking  upon  her  as  one  whom,  it 
I  had  lived,  I  hoped  to  have  had  my  partner  for 
life,  I  did  hold  the  removing  her  anxiety  above 
every  other  consideration.  I  would  rather  have 
had  the  affections  of  your  daughter  in  the  back 
settlements  of  America,  than  the  first  situation 
this  country  could  afford  without  them.  I 
know  not  whether  this  would  be  any  extenua- 
tion of  my  offence — I  know  not  .whether  it 
will  be  any  extenuation  of  it  to  know,  that  if  I 
had  that  situation  in  my  power  at  this  moment, 
I  would  relinquish  it  to  devote  my  life  to  her 
happiness — Iknow  not  whether  success  would 
have  blotted  out  the  recollection  of  what  1  have 
done — but  I  know  that  a  man,  with  the  cold- 
ness of  death  in  him,  need  not  ^e  made  to  feel 
any  other  coldness,  and  that  he  may  be  spared 
any  addition  to  the  misery  he  feels  not  for  him- 
self, but  for  those  to  whom  he  has  left  nothing 
but  sorrow." 

The  original,  from  which  the  above  has  been 
copied,  is  not  signed  or  dated.  It  was  written 
in  the  interval  between  Mr.  Emmet's  convic- 
tion and  execution. 

Upon  the  arrest  of  Mr.  Emmet,  some  papers 
were  found  upon  his  person,  which  shewed  that 
subsequent  to  the  insurrection,  he  had  corres- 
ponded with  one  of  Mr.  Curran's  family :  a  war- 
rant accordingly  followed,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
to  examine  Mr.  Curran's  house,  where  some  of 
Mr.  Emmet's  letters  were  found,  which,  to- 
gether with  the  documents  taken  upon  his  per- 


69 

son,  placed  beyond  a  doubt,  his  connection  with 
the  late  conspiracy,  and  were  afterwards  used 
as  evidence  upon  his  trial. 

At  the  instance  of  the  attorney-general,  Mr. 
O'Grady,  Mr.  Curran  accompanied  hinn  to  the 
privy  council.  Upon  his  first  entrance,  there 
was  some  indication  of  the  hostile  spirit  which 
he  had  originally  apprehended.  A  noble  lord, 
who  at  that  time  held  the  highest  judicial  situ- 
ation in  Ireland,  undertook  to  examine  him  upon' 
the  transaction  which  occasioned  his  attend- 
ance. To  do  this  was  undoubtedly  his  duty. 
He  fixed  his  eye  upon  i\Ir.  Curran,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  cross-examine  his  countenance,  when 
(as  it  is  well  remembered  by  the  spectators  of 
the  scene)  the  swell  of  indignation,  and  the 
glance  of  stern  dignity  and  contempt  which  he 
encountered  there,  orave  his  own  nerVes  the 
shock  which  he  had  meditated  for  another  s, 
and  compelled  him  to  shrink  back  in  his  chair, 
silent  and  disconcerted  at  the  failure  of  his  rash 
experiment.  With  this  single  exception,  Mr. 
Curran  was  treated  with  ^he  utmost  delicacy^ 

A  special  commission  was  opened  to  try 
Emmet  and  nineteen  other  prisoners  in  Dublin, 
on  the  thirty-first  of  August,  1803,  under  Lord 
Norbury,  Mr.  Finucane,  and  Barons  George 
and  Daly.  Mr.  Standish  O'Grady  was  the  at- 
torney general. 

Of  these  nineteen,  one  was  acquitted,  and 
another  reprieved  ;  the  rest  were  convicted  and 
executed  on  the  evidence  of  various  witnesses. 

Amonofst  the  unfortunate  men  convicted 
were  some  of  the  principle  associates  of  Emmet 


70 

in  the 'insurrection.     Mr.  Russei  was  the  son 
of  an  officer  of  reputation  in  his  majesty's  ser- 
vice, and  who.  having  retired,  enjoyed  an  hon- 
ourable retreat  in  the  situation  of  master  of  the 
royal  hospital  for  veterans  at  Kilmainham,  near 
Dublin.     He  was  placed  early  in  the  army,  and 
served  at  Banker's  Hill,  and  the    subsequent 
campaigns  in  North  x\merica,  After  the  peace, 
he  either  retired  on  half  pay,  or  his  corps  was 
reduced.  He  was  affectionate  and  tfender-heart-. 
ed,  and  possessed  every  feeling  and  sentiment 
of  the  gentleman.     After  the  arrest  of  Emmet, 
Russei   introduced   himself  clandestinely   into 
Dublin,    with   a  view  to  rescue  his  friend,    if 
possible,    under   favour   of    some    commotion. 
About  two   days  after  his  arrival,  it   became 
known  that  some  person  was  mysteriously  se- 
creted in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  castle. 
Information  to  this  effect  having  been  convey- 
ed to  Major  Sirr,  that  officer  proceeded  to  the 
examination  of  a  house  in  Parliament   street, 
where  he  v/as  found,  and  to  whom  Mr.  Russei, 
though  well  armed,  surrendered  without  resis- 
tance.    It  was  supposed  that  he  was,  in  this 
act,    influenced   by   a    religious    scruple.     He 
was  immediately  transmitted  to  Down  Patrick, 
in  the  north  of  Ireland,  where  he   was   shortly 
after  brought   to  trial,   and  upon  the  clearest 
evidence  of  his  treason,  convicted. — After  his 
trial,  he  manifested  all  that  wildness  of  r^lijrious 
enthusiasm,  which  had  for  some  time  formed 
the   prominent   feature  of  his   character.     On 
conviction,    he   addressed    the  court   at  great 
length,  an4  with  remarkable  firmness.     He  c[e-r 


clared  his  adherence  to  the   political  opinions 
for  which  he  was  about  to    suffer,  and  touched, 
in  a  tender  point,  the  gentlemen  of  the  county 
of  Down,  by  whom  he  was  surrounded.     These 
gentlemen,    although    latterly     become    more 
anxious  to  secure  tneir  property  than   to   pre- 
serve the  circle  of  their  liberties,  had  been  fore- 
most in  the  outcry  for  parliamentary   reform 
and  political  independence.     Russel  reminded 
them  of  this  circumstance,  and  declared  that 
he  was  doomed  to  suffer  for  endeavouring  to 
put  into  execution  the  lessons  imbibed  amongst 
them. 

A  man  of  a  different  stamp  was  Dwyer  This, 
man,  at  the  head  of  a  gang  of  deserters  and 
banditti,  had  remained  in  arms  from  the  period 
of  the  rebellion  of  1798,  obstinately  rejecting 
repeatedly  proffered  mercy,  and  who  dexter- 
ously eluding  all  pursuit,  had  sustained  him- 
self under  the  protection  of  the  almost  inacces- 
sible fastnesses  of  the  Wicklow  Mountains. 
His  party  did  not  ostensibly  exceed  twenty, 
but  he  was  supposed  to  possess  unbounded  in- 
fluence over  the  peasants  of  the  district,  so  that 
a  large  body,  on  any  notable  undertaking,  was 
within  his  means  of  command.  Dwyer  and 
his  band  of  outlaws  afterwards  submitted,  on 
the  stipulation  that  their  lives  should  be  spared- 
On  Mr.  Emmet's  trial,  the  several  facts  aftd 
circumstances  alreadj'^  narrated,  were  fully 
proved.  He  called  no  witnesses,  and  was 
found  guilty.  Previous  to  the  judge's  charge 
to  the  jury,  Lord  Conyngham  Plunket,  who 
was   then   king's   counsel,  and  conducted  the 


72 


prosecution  against  Mr.  Emmet,  made  a  speech 
of  considerable  length,  and  in  the  severest  tone 
of  legal  and  political  asperity,  detailed  the  con- 
sequences that  would  affect  all  social  order, 
were  such  opinions  as  Emmet  entertained  al- 
lowed to  have  any  countenance  from  the  mild- 
ness of  the  laws,  or  the  mistaken  lenity,  which 
is  often  exercised  by  the  authority  vested  in 
the  sacred  person  of  majest^^ 

When  Mr.  Emmet  was  put  to  the  bar,  and 
called  upon  by  Lord  Norbury  to  offer  what  he 
had  to  say  why  sentence  of  death  and  execution 
should  not  be  awarded  asfainst  him  according: 
to  law,  he  rose  with  great  firmness  and  com- 
posure, and  delivered  a  speech  of  remarkable 
force  and  ability.  His  appeal  to  the  memory 
of  his  parent  was  most  affecting: — "If  the 
spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in  the 
cares  of  those  who  are  dear  to  them  in  this 
transitory  life,  oh  !  ever  dear  and  venerated 
shade  of  my  departed  father,  look  down  with 
scrutiny  upon  the  conduct  of  your  suffering  son, 
and  see  if  I  have  even  for  a  moment,  deviated- 
from  those  principles  of  morality  and  patriot- 
ism, which  it  was  your  care  to  instil  into  my 
youthful  mind,  and  for  which  I  am  now  about 
to  offer  up  my  life." 

In  remarking  on  the  language  of  the  counsel 
for  the  crown,  Mr.  Emmet  said,  that  "  In  their 
early  intimacy,  he  had  actually  inculcated  into' 
his  mind  those  principles  for  which  he  was  now 
about  to  suffer." 

The  following  is  the  copy  of  a  letter  froK> 
Mr.  Emmet  to  Mr.  Richard  Curran :— 


73 

''My  dearest  Richard  : — 1  find  i  have  but  a 
-few  hours  to  live,  but  if  it  was  the  last  moinetit, 
and  that  the  power  of  utterance  was  leaving 
me,  I  would  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  for  your  generous  expressions  of  affection 
and  forgiveness  to  me.  If  there  was  any  one 
in  the  world  in  whose  breast  my  death  may  be 
supposed  not  to  stifle  every  spark  of  resent- 
ment, it  might  be  you.  1  have  deeply  injured 
you — I  have  injured  the  happiness  of  a  sister 
that  you  love,  and  who  was  formed  to  give  hap- 
piness to  every  one  about  her,  instead  of  having 
her  own  mind  a  prey  to  afflictiou  Oh  !  Rich- 
ard, 1  have  no  excuse  to  offer,  but  that  I  meant 
the  reverse  :  I  intended  as'lnuch  happiness  for 
Sarah  as  the  most  ardent  love  could  have  given 
her.  I  never  did  tell  you  how  much  I  idolized 
her :  it  was  not  with  a  wild  or  unfounded  pas^ 
sion,  but  it  was  an  attachment  increasing  every 
hour,  from  an  admiration  of  the  purity  of  her 
mind,  and  respect  for  her  talents.  I  did  dwell 
in  secret  upon  the  prospect  of  our  union  I  did 
hope  that  success,  while  it  afforded  the  oppor 
tunity  of  our  union,  might  be  the  means  of  con= 
firmins:  an  attachment,  which  misfortune  had 
called  forth.  I  did  not  look  to  honours  for  my= 
self;  praise  I  would  have  asked  from  the  lips 
of  no  man  ;  but  I  would  have  wiahed  to  read  in 
the  glow  of  Sarah's  countenance,  that  her  bus- 
band  was  respected. 

"My  love,  Sarah !  it  wai.  not  thus  that  I 
thought  to  have  requitted  your  affections.  I 
did  hope  to  be  a  prop  round  v/hieh  y?)ur  affec- 
tions mi^ht  have  clunc-,  and  which  would  ne^'et 

IT 

« 


have  been  shaken,  but  a  rude  blast  has  snapped 
it,  and  they  have  fallen  over  a  grave. 

"This  is  no  time  for  affliction.  I  have  had 
public  motives  to  sustain  my  mind,  and  I  have 
not  suffered  it  to  sink  ;  but  there  have  been 
moments  in  my  imprisonment  when  my  mind 
was  so  sunk  by  grief  on  her  account,  that  death 
would  have  been  a  refuge. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dearest  Richard.  I  arr 
obliged  to  leave  off  immediately. 

Robert  Emmet," 

This  letter  was  written  at  twelve  o'clock  oi* 
the  day  of  Mr.  Emmet's  execution,  and  the 
firmness  and  regularity  of  the  original  hand- 
writing contains  a  striking  and  affecting  proof 
of  the  little  influence  which  the  approaching 
event  exerted  over  his  frame.  The  same 
enthusiasm  which  allured  him  to  his  destiny, 
enabled  him  to  support  its  utmost  rigour  He 
met  his  fate  wnth  unostentatious  fortitude  ;  and 
although  few  will  be  found  bold  enough  to  jus- 
tify hi's  projects  since  they  were  unsuccessful; 
yet  his  youth,  his  talents,  the  great  respecta- 
bility of  his  connections,  and  the  evident  de- 
lusion  of  which  he  w^as  the  victim,  have  excited 
more  general  sympathy  for  his  unfortunate 
end,  and  more  forbearance  towards  his  memory, 
than  is  usually  extended  to  the  errors  or  suf 
ferings  of  political  offenders. 

What  brought  forth  this  wonderful  effort  ot 
a  young  gentlepian,  unaided  and   unsupported  ^ 
by  any  ra'tional  system  of  organization,  uncoun- 
tenanced  but  by  the  humblest  men   in   society, 


7,5 

relying  on  his  own  great  energies,  and  the 
thousand  circumstances  which  chance  might 
throw  up  on  the  surface  of  the  political  ocean  1 
What  animated  the  mind  and  spirit  of  Emmet, 
night  after  night,  and  day  after  day  1  Whatl 
His  enemies  will  saj^  it  was  ambition,  a  hope 
of  personal  aggrandizement,  and  a  speculation 
of  personal  exaltation,  a  sanguinary  purpose  to 
raise  himself  on  the  ruins  of  all  that  was  re- 
spected  and  cherished  in  society.  To  such 
enemies  we  will  reply  that,  if  ever  an  enthusiast 
was  animated  with  a  pure  and  unadulterated 
sentiment  of  the  most  disinterested  anxiety  for 
the  freedom  of  his  native  country — if  ever  there 
was  a  human  being  who  was  ready  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  his 
fellow-creatures — if  ever  there  was  a  heart  that 
sincerelj''  sympathised  with  tlie  sufferings  of 
mankind,  o^  that  would  cheerfully  devote  itself 
at  the  altar,  if  such  a  sacrifice  could  procure 
the  liberty  of  Ireland — Robert  Emmet  was  that 
man. 

With  an  intellect  of  the  highest  order,  elo- 
quence powerful,  commanding,  and  inexhausti- 
ble j  an  integrity  which  no  force  could  bend; 
a  spirit  which  no  danger  or  suffering  could  in- 
timidate ;  born  of  parents  who  were  the  pride 
and  boast  of  their  country  ;  the  brother  of 
those  men  who  in  the  birih-day  of  Ireland's 
freedom,  illuminated  the  political  firmament, 
and  gave  their  country  a  hope  that  her  freedom 
would  be  immortal ;  the  witness  of  her  fall,  and 
the  spectator  of  her  degradation,  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  t,be  dreaffis  of  his  own  imagination, 


7o 

aud  thought  he  saw  the  liherfeies  of  his  cotiritry 
achieved  before  he  had  formed  his  plan  to  se- 
cnre  theju.  With  all  the  customary  character- 
istics of  an  enthusiast.  He  seemed  to  disdain 
those  humble  calculations  by  which  all  human 
objects  are  to  be  obtained.  But  Emmet  achiev- 
ed what  no  other  man  but  himself  would  have 
dared  to  attempt.  With  his  single  mind,  and 
sinarle  arm,  he  orgranized  thousands  of  his 
countrymen,  and  besieged  the  government  of 
the  country  in  their  strongest  position. 

Mr.  Emmet  was  e^j^ecuted  on  the  day  follow^ 
ing  that  of  his  sentence,  in  Thomas-street,  at 
the  head  of  Bridgefoot  Street,  opposite  Cathe- 
rine's church. 

Robert  Emmet,  the  lofty-minded  patriot — the 
amiable  enthusiast — the  warm-hearted  friend, 
and  ardent  lover  is  no  more  !  The  liand  of  the 
executioner  extinguished  the  fire  and  energy  or 
that  soul,  which  burned  for  his  country's  good  j 
and  that  tongue,  of  the  purest  and  sublimest 
eloquence,  is  now  for  ever  mute. 

He  died  as  he  lived,  with  heroic  fearlessness, 
and  decent  fortitude.  The  amiable,  though  en- 
thusiastic Emmet,  however,  we  hope  has  not 
died  in  vain ;  our  rulers  must  learn  from  his 
history  that  a  people  without  confidence  is  a 
moral  Hydra,  never  to  be  deprived  of  the  means 
of  doing:  mischief.  The  head  of  one  rebel- 
lion  is  no  sooner  lopped  off  than  another  is 
generated.  The  Hercules,  who  is  to  anni- 
hilate the  monster,  can  only  be  found  in 
those  acts  of  wisdom  and  justice,  which  are  to 
reconcile  the  people  ^o  theii^  rulers,  by  making 
iheni  iVeeinpii. 


77 

The  fate  of  Robert  Emmet  demaiuleJ  some- 
thing more  than  tears,  and  unprofitable  as  these 
may  have  been,  we  have  continued  to  offer 
them  still  to  his  memory.  But  let  our  private 
sorrows  pass  ;  history  one  day  will  do  ^im  jus- 
tice ;  we  have  thrown  our  mite  in  the  scale  in 
which  his  reputation  yet  trembles  ;  and,  inade- 
quate as  that  may  be,  it  is  sincere  and  impar- 
tial. All  ye  who  knew  him  in  "  his  hour  of 
pride,"  go  and  do  likewise. 

The  following  is  extracted  from  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Mr.  Rufus  King  from  T.  A.  Emmet, 
brother  to  Robert  Emmet,  on  the  subject  of 
Mr.  King's  interference  with  the  British  go- 
vernment,  as  ambassador  from  the  United 
States,  to  prevent  the  Irish  state  prisoners  of 
"•798  from  emigratinor  to  America  i — 

"  Sir, — In  the  commencement  of  our  negoci- 
ation,  Lord  Castlereagh  declared,  as  a  reason 
for  acceding  to  government's  possessing  a  ne- 
gative on  our  choice,  that  it  had  no  worse  place 
in  view  for  our  emigration  than  the  United 
States  of  America.  We  had  made  our  election 
to  go  there,  and  called  upon  him  to  have  our 
ao-reement  carried  into  execution.  In  that  dif- 
ficulty,  you,  sir,  afforded  very  effectual  assis- 
tance to  the  faithlessness  of  the  British  cabinet. 
On  the  16th  of  September,  Mr.  Marsden,  then 
Under  Secretary,  came  to  inform  us  that  Mr. 
King  had  remonstrated  against  our  being  per- 
mitted to  emigrate  to  America.  This  astonish- 
ed  us  all.  and  Dr.  MISeven  very  plainly 
said  that  he  considered  this  as  a  mere  trick  be- 
tween Mr»  King  and  the  British  Government. 

7* 


78 


This  Mr.  Marsden  denied,  and  on  being  pressed 
to  know  what  reason  Mr.  Kinsf  could  have  for 
preventing  us,  who  were   avowed  republicans, 
from  emigrating  to  America,  he   significantly- 
answered,  '  Perhaps  Mr.  King  does  not   desire 
to  have  republicans  in  America."     Your  inter- 
ference was  then,  sir,,  made  the  pretext  of  de- 
taining us  for  four  years  in  custody,  by  which 
very  extensive  and  useful  plans  of  settlement 
J    within  these  states  were  broken  up.   '  The  mis- 
fortunes which  you  brought  upon  the  objects  of 
your  persecution  were  inca.lcukible.     Almost  all 
of  us  wasted  four  of  the  best  years  of  our  lives 
in   prison.     As  to  me,  I  should  have  brought 
along  with  me  my  father  and  his  family,  inclu- 
ding a  brother,   whose  name  perhaps  even  you 
will  not  read  without    emotions  of  sympathy 
and  respect.     Others  nearly  connected  with  me 
would  have  come  partners  in  my  emigration. 
But  all  of  them  have  been  torn  from    me.  *  I 
have   been    prevented  from   saving  a  brother, 
from  receiving  the  dying  blessings  of  a  father, 
mother,  and  sister,  and  from  soothing  their  last 
agonies  by  my  cares  ;  and  this,  sir,  by  your  un^- 
warrantable,  unprecedented,  and   unfeeling  in- 
terferencfe.     Your   friends,   when   they  accuse 
me  of  want  of  moderation  towards  you,   are 
wonderfully  mistaken.     They  do  not  reflect,  or 
know,  that  I  have  never  spoken  of  you  without 
suppressing,  as  I  do  now,  personal  feelings  that 
rise  up»  within  me,  and  swell  my  heart  with  in- 
dignation-and  resentment.     The  step  you  took 
was   unauthorised   by  your  own  government. 
Whether  our  conduct  id  Ireland  was  right  or 


79 

wrong,  you   have   no  justification   for   yours. 
The  constitution  and  laws  of  this  country  gave 
you  no  power  to  require  of  the  British  govern- 
ment that  it  should  violate  its  faith,  and  with- 
draw from  us  its  consent  to  the  place  we  had 
fixed  upon  for  our  voluntary  emigration  ,  neither 
the  president  nor  you  were  warranted  to  pre- 
vent   our    touching  these   shores. — These    re- 
marks I  address,  with  all  becoming  respect,  to 
'  the  first  man  in  the  country.'     Yet  in  fact,  sir, 
I  do  not  clearly  see    in  what  consists  your  su- 
periority over  myself.     It  is  true  you  hava  been 
a  resident  minister  at  the  court  of  St.  James' ; 
and,  if  what  1  have  read  in  the  public  prints  be 
true,  and  if  you  be   apprised  of   my  near  rela- 
tionship and  family  connexion  with  the  late  Sir 
John  Temple,  you  must  acknowledge  that  you/ 
interference  as  resident  minister  at  the  court  of 
St.  James's,  against  my  being  permitted  to  em- 
igrate to  America,   is  a  very  curious  instance 
of  the    caprice  of   fortune — but  let  that  pass. 
To  what  extent  I  ought  to  yield  to  you  for  tal 
ents  and  information,  is  not  for  me  to  decide- 
In  no  respect,  however,  do  I  feel  your  excessive 
superiority. — My  private  conduct  and  character 
are,  I  hope,  as  fair  as  yours — and  even  in  those 
matters  which  I  consider'  as  trivial,  but  upon 
which  aristocratic  pride  is  accustomed  to  stamp 
a  value,  I  should  not  be  inclined  to  shrink  from 
competition.     My  birth  certainly  will  not  hum- 
ble   me   by  the  comparison  ;  my  paternal  for- 
tune was,  probably,  much  greater  than  yours  ; 
the  consideration  in  which  the  name  I  bear  in 
my  native  country  was  held,  was  as  great  as 


^    .  so 

yours  is  ever  likely  to  be   before   i  bad  ;ia  op- 
portunity of  contributing  to  its  celebrity. 

As  to  the  amount  of  what  private  fortune  I 
have  been  able  to  save  from  the  wreck  of  cal- 
amity it  is  unknown  to  you  or  to  your  friends  ; 
but  two  things  I  will  tell  you  : — I  never  was 
indebted,  either  in  the  country  from  which  I 
came,  nor  in  any  other  in  which  I  have  lived, 
to  any  man,  further  than  the  necessary  credit 
for  the  current  expenses  of  a  family  ;  and  am  ^ 
not  so  circumstanced  that  I  should  tremble 
"  for  my  subsistence"  at  the  threatened  dis- 
pleasure of  your  friends.  So  much  for  the  past 
and  present — now  for  the  future.  Circumstan- 
ces which  cannot  be  controlled,  have  decided 
that  my  name  must  be  embodied  into  history. 
From  the  mannqr  in  which  even  my  political 
adversaries,  and  some  of  my  contemporary  his- 
torians, unequivocally  hostile  to  my  principles, 
already  speak  of  me,  I  have  the  consolation  of 
reflecting,  that  when  the  falsehoods  of  the  day 
are  withered  and  rotten,  I  shall  be  respected 
and  esteemed. — You,  sir,  will  probably  be  for- 
gotten, when  I  shall  be  remembered  with  hon- 
our, or  if^  peradventure,  jT'our  name  should  de- 
scend to  posterity,  perhaps  you  will  be  known 
only  as  the  recorded  instrument  of  part  of  my 
persecutions,  sufferings,  and  misfortunes. 

Thomas  Addis  Emmet," 

Kew-York,  April  9,  1807. 


81 

MISS  CURRAN. 

She  15?  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleeps. 

And  lovers  are  round  her  sisrhmo: ; 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  saze  and  weeps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

She  sings  the  wild  sons  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Every  note  which  he  loved  awaking; 

Ah  !  little  they  think  who  delight  in  her  strains. 
How  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking. 


•a* 


He  had  liv'd  for  his  love,  for  his  country  he  died, 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  him  ; 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried. 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him. 

Oh  !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest, 
When  they  make  her  a  glorious  morrow  ; 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the  west, 
From  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow. 

The  eveninor  before  his  death,  Miss  Curran 
was  admitted  into  his  dunofeon  to  bid  him  her 
eternal  farewell.  He  was  leaninir  in  a  melan- 
choly  mood  against  the' window  of  the  prison, 
'and  the  heavy  clanking  of  his  chains  smote 
dismally  on  her  heart.  The  interview  was 
bitterly  affecting,  and  melted  even  the  callous 
soul  of  the  jailor.  As  for  Emmet  himself,  he 
wept,  and  spoke  little  ;  but  as  he  pressed  bis 
beloved  in  silence  to  his  heart,  his  countenance 
betrayed  his  emotions.  In  a  low  voice,  half 
choked  by  anguish,  he  besought  her  not  to 
forget  him  ;  he  reminded  her  of  their  former 
happiness,  of  the  long  past  days  of  their  child- 
hood, and  concluded  by  requesting  her  some- 
times to  visit  the  scenes  where  their  infancy 
was  spent,  and  tho|^h  the  world  might  repeat 


82 

his  name  with  scorn,  to  cling  to  his  memory 
with  affection.  In  parting,  she  turned  round, 
as  if  to  gaze  once  more  on  her  widowed  love. 
He  caught  her  cj^e  as  she  retired — it  was  but 
for  a  moment — and  as  the  door  closed  on  him, 
it  informed  her  too  surely  that  they  had  met 
for  the  last  time  on  earth,  but  that  thev  should 
meet  in  a  better  world,  where  man  could  not 
separate  them. 

She  loved  him  with  the  disinterested  fervour 
of  a  woman's  first  and  early  love.  When  every 
worldly  maxim  arrayed  itself  against  him — 
when  blasted  in  fortune,  and  disofrace  and  dan- 
ger  darkened  around  his  name,  she  loved  him 
the  more  ardently  for  his  very  sufferings.  If, 
then,  his  fate  could  awaken  the  sympathy  even 
of  his  foes,  what  must  have  been  the  agony  of 
her  whose  whole  soul  was  occupied  by  his  im- 
age %  Let  those  tell  who  have  had  the  portal 
of  the  tomb  suddenly  closed  between  them  and 
the  being  they  most  loved  on  earth — who  have 
sat  at  its  threshold,  as  one  shut  out  in  a  cold 
and  lonely  world  from  W'hence  all  that  was 
most  lovely  and  loving  had  departed. 

To  render  her  Avidowed  situation  more  des- 
olate, she  had  incurred  her  father's  displeasure 
by  her  unfortunate  attachment,  and  was  an 
exile  from  her  paternal  roof.  But  could  the 
sympathy  and  offices  of  friends  reached  a  spirit 
B0  shocked  and  driven  in  by  horror,  she  would 
have  experienced  no  want  of  consolation,  for 
the  Irish  are  proverbially  a  people  of  quick  and 
generous  sensibilities. 

The  most  delicate  snd  cherishing  attentronfj 


83 

iverc  paid  hcf  by  families  of  wealth  and  distinc- 
tion. She  was  led  into  society,  and  they  tried 
by  all  kinds  of  occupation  and  amuseme.nt  to 
dissipate  her  grief,  and  wean  her  from  the 
tragical  story  of  her  love.  But  it  was  all  in 
vain. 

There  are  some  strokes  of  calamity  that 
scathe  and  scorch  the  soul — that  penetrate  to 
the  vital  seat  of  happiness — and  blast  it,  never 
again  to  put  forth  bud  or  blossom.  She  never 
objected  to  frequent  the  haunts  of  pleasure,  but 
she  was  as  much  alone  there  as  in  the  depths 
of  solitude.  She  walked  about  in  a  sad  reverie, 
apparently  unconscious  of  the  world  around 
her.  She  carried  with  her  an  inward  woe  that 
mocked  at  all  the  blandishments  of  friendship, 
and  "  heeded  not  the  song  of  the  charmer,  charm 
he  never  so  wisely." 

On  the  occasion  of  a  masquerade  at  the  Ro- 
tunda, her  friends  brought  her  to  it.  There 
can  be  no  exhibition  of  far-gone  wretchedness 
more  striking  and  painful  than  to  meet  it  in 
such  a  scene.  To  find  it  wandering  like  a 
spectre,  lonely  and  joyless,  where  all  around  is 
gay — to  see  it  dressed  out  in  the  trappings  of 
nxirth,  and  looking  so  wan  and  wo-begone,  as  if 
it  had  tried  in  vain  to  cheat  the  poor  heart  into 
a  momentary  forgetfulness  of  sorrow.  After 
strolling  through  the  splendid  rooms  and  giddy 
crowd  with  an  air  of  utter  abstraction,  she  sat 
herself  down  on  the  steps  of  an  orchestra,  and 
looking  about  for  some  time  with  a  vacant  air, 
that  shewed  insensibility  to  the  garish  scene, 
she  began,  with  the  caprioiousness  of  a  sickly 


84. 

heart,  to  warble  a  little  plaintive  air.  She  had  an 
exquisite  voice  but  on  this  occasiou  it  was  so  sim- 
ple, so  touching,  it  breathed  forth  such  a  soul  of 
wretchedness,  that  she  drew  a  crowd,  mute  and 
silent  around  her,  and  melted  every  one  into  tears 

The  story  of  one  so  true  and  tender  could  not 
but  excite  great  interest  in  a  country  remark 
for  enthusiasm.  It  completely  won  the  heart 
of  a  brave  officer  who  paid  his  addresses  to  her, 
and  thouorht  that  one  so  true  to  the  dead  could 
not  but  prove  affectionate  to  the  living.  She 
declined  his  attentions,  for  her  thouirhts  were 
irrevocably  engrossed  by  the  memory  of  hrr 
former  lover. — He,  however,  persisted  in  his 
suit.  He  solicited  not  her  tenderness,  but  hor 
esteem.  He  was  assisted  by  her  conviction  of 
his  worth,  and  her  sense  of  her  own  destitute 
and  dependant  situation,  for  she  was  existing 
on  the  kindnes  of  friends.  In  a  word,  he  at 
length  succeeded  in  gaining  her  hand,  though 
with  the  solemn  assurance  that  her  heart  was 
unalterably  another's. 

He  took  her  with  him  to  Sicily,  hoping  that 
a  chans^e  of  scene  miffht  wear  out  the  remem- 
brance.  of  early  woes.  She  was  an  amiable  and 
exemplary  wife,  and  made"  an  effort  to  be  a 
happy  one  ;  but  nothing  could  cure  the  silent 
and  devouring  melancholy  that  had  entered 
into  her  very  soul.  She  wasted  away  in  a 
slow  but  hopeless  decline,  and  at  length  sunk 
into  the  grave,  the  victim  of  a  broken  heart. 


0 

I 


85  . 

ft 

ffer  sorrows  arc  numbered — no  longer  she  weepf, 

Every  pang  she  endured  is  requited  ; 
With  endless  delight,  and  in  silence  she  sleeps, 

For  in  death  with  her  love  she's  united. 

Like  Sidney  he  died,  but  his  mem'ry  shall  live 
In  the  bosoms  of  those  who  deplored  him  ; 

Afld  Pity  her  purest  of  dew-drops  shall  give 
To  the  sorrows  of  those  who  adored  him. 

For  he  loved — was  beloved —  hut  alas !  in  his  bloom. 
The  ordeal  of  fate  here  sore  tried  him  ; 

And  his  spirit  took  flight  from  this  world  of  gloom, 
To  that  gloi7  which  here  was  denied  him. 

From  regions  of  bliss — the  high  Heavens  above, 
Where  sorrows  can  never  invade  him  ; 

He  saw  her  distress,  and  he  beckoned  his  love 
To  ascend,  and  with  joy  she  obeyed  him. 

And  she  who  is  joined  to  the  spirit  she  mourned, 
Now  in  bliss,  '  tis  in  vain  to  deplore  her; 

For  her  memory  shall  live  in  their  bosoms  inurned, 
Who  vowed  even  in  death  to  adore  her. 

Whether  hero,  or  lover,  or  else  matters  not, 
"  Other  times — other  men  shall  divine  him  ;'* 

Let  him  rest  with  his  love,  by  the  world  forgot, 
We  have  hearts  large  enough  to  enshrine  hioi. 


86 


IvfY  EMMET'S  NO  MORE. 


Despair  in  her  wild  eye,  a  daughter  of  Erin, 

Appeared  on  the  cliff  of  a  bleak  rocky  shore. 
Loose  in  the  winds  flowed  her  dark  streaming  ringlets' 

And  heedless  she  gazed  on  the    dread  surge's  roar. 
I. cud  rang  her  harp  in  wild  tones  of  despairing, 

The  time  passed  away  with  the  present  compairing. 
And  in  soul-thrilling  strains  deeper  sorrow  declaring. 

She  sang  Erin's  woes,  and  her  Emmet's  no  more  ! 


"  Oh,  Erin  !  my  country,  your  glory's  departed, 

For  tyrants  and  traitors  have  stabbed  thy  heart's  core. 
Thy  daughters  have  laved  in  the  streams  of  affliction. 

Thy  patriots  have  fled,  or  arc  stretched  in  their  gore. 
Ruthless  ruflians  now  prowl  through  thy  hamlets  forsaken 

From   pale  hungry   orphans   their   last  morsels  have 
taken  ; 
The  screams  of  thy  females  no  pity  awaken  ,• 

Alas  .'  my  poor  country,  your  Emmet's  no  more  ! 


**  Brave  was  his  spirit,  yet  mild  as  the  Brahmin, 

His  heart  bled  in  anguish  at  the  wrongs  of  the  poor  j 
To  relieve  tlieir  hard  sufferings  he  braved  every  danger. 

The  vengence  of  tyrants  undauntedly  bore. 
E'en   before  him  the  proud  titled  villains  in  power, 

Were  seen,  though  in  ermine,  in  terror  to  cower. 
But,  alas  !  he  is  gone — he  has  fallen  a  young  flower. 

They  have  murdered  my  Emmet — my   Emmet's   n<r 
more  !" 


87 

THE  TRIAL 

OF 

ROBERT    EMMET, 

UPON    AN 

INDICTMENT  FOR  HIGH  TREASON, 

Held^    under  a  Special    Commission^    at    the 

Sessions  House,  Green  Street,  on  Monday, 

19th  of  September,  1S03. 


JUDGES     PRESENT. LORD      NORBURY,     MR.     BARON 

GEORGE,    AND    BIR.    BARON    DALY. 
MR.    STANDISH    o'gRADY,    ATTORNEY    GENERAL. 

To  the  indictment,  charging  him  with  com- 
passing the  disposition  and  death  of  the  king, 
and  conspiring  to   levy  war  against   the  king 
within  thereahn,  Mr.  Emmet  pleaded  not  guilty 
He  was  then  given  in  charge. 

The    indictment  was  then  opened,   in   sub- 
stance, to  the  fallowing  effect,  by 

THE  ATTORNEY-GENERAL, 

J^fy  Lord,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury : 

It  is  my  duty  -to  state,  as  concisely  as  I  can, 
die  nature  of  the  charge   which  has   been   pre- 


88 

ferrod  against  the  prisoner  at  iho  bar,  and  also 
the  nature  of  the  evidence  which  will  be  pro- 
duced to  substantiate  the  charge.  It  will  re- 
quire on  your  part  the  most  deliberate  consid- 
eration ;  because  it  is  not  only  the  highest 
crime  of  which  at  all  times  the  subject  can  be 
guilty,  but  it  receives,  if  possible,  additional 
agroravation  when  we  consider  the'  state  of 
Europe,  and  the  lamentable  consequences  which 
revolution  has  already  brought  upon  it. 

Perhaps  at  former  periods  some  allowance 
miofht  be  made  for  the  heated  imasfination  of 
enthusiasts;  perhaps  an  extravagant  love  of 
liberty,  might  for  a  moment  supersede  a  rational 
understandino;,  and  misfht  be  induced,  for  want 
of  sufficient  experience  or  capacity,  to  look  for 
that  liberty  in  revolution.  But  it  is  not  the 
road  to  liberty.  It  throws  the  mass  of  the  peo- 
ple into  agitation,  only  to  bring  the  worst  and 
the  most  profligate  to  the  surface.  It  originates 
in  anarchy,  proceeds  in  bloodshed,  and  ends  in 
cruel  and  unrelenting  despotism. 

Therefore,  Gentlemen,  the  crime  of  which 
the  prisoner  stands  charged,  demands  the  most 
serious  and  deep  investigation,  because  it  is  in 
its  nature  a  crime  of  the  blackest  die,  and 
which,  under  all  existing  circumstances,  does 
not  admit  of  a  momentary  explanation. 

Gentlemen,  the  prisoner  stands  indicted 
under  a  very  ancient  statute— the  25th  of  Ed- 
ward III. — and  the  indictment  is  grounded  on 
three  clauses.  The  first  relates  to  compassing 
and  imaorinino-  the  death  of  the  kincr — the  sec- 
ond  in  adhering- to  his  enemies — and  the  tliird 


89 

in  compassing-  to  levy  war  against  him.  The 
two  latter,  namely,  that  of  adhering  to  the 
king-'s  enemies,  and  that  of  compassing  to  levy 
war,  are  so  intelligible  in  themselves  that  they 
do  not  require  any  observation  upon  them. 
But  the  first  admits  of  some  technical  consid- 
erations, and  may  require  on  my  part  a  short 
explanation. 

In  the  language  of  the  law,  compassing  the 
death  of  the  king,  does  not  mean  or  imply  ne- 
cessarily, any  immediate  attack  upon  his  person. 
But  any  conspiracy,  which  has  for  its  object  an 
alteration  of  the  laws,  consiitution,  and  govern- 
ment of  the  country  by  force,  uniformly  leads 
to  anarchy  and  general  destruction,  and  finally 
tends  to  endano^er  the  life  of  the  kinsr.  And, 
therefore,  where  that  design  is  substantiated, 
and  manifested  by  overt  acts,  whenever  the 
party  entertaining  the  design,  uses  any  means 
to  carry  his  traitorous  intentions  into  execu-. 
tion,  the  crime  of  compassing  and  imagining 
the  death  of  the  king  is  complete. 

Accordingly,  gentlemen,  this  indictm.ent  par- 
ticularly states  overt  acts,  by  which  the  prisoner 
disclosed  the  traitorous  imaorination  of  his 
heart — and,  if  it  shall  be  necessary,  those  par- 
ticular overt  acts,  and  the  applicability  of  the 
evidence  which  will  be  produced  to  support 
them,  will  be  stated  at  large  to  you  by  the 
the  court,  and  therefore  it  will  not  be  necessary 
for  me  now  to  trespass  upon  the  public  time, 
by  a  minute  examination  of  them. 

Gentlemen,  having  heard  the  charge  against 
the  prisoner,  you  will  naturally  feel  that  your 

8« 


duty  will  require  an  investigation  into  two  dis- 
tinct points :  first,  whether  there  has,  or  has 
not  existed,  a  traitorous  conspiracy  and  rebel- 
Jion  for  the  purpose  of  ahering  the  law,  the 
constitution,  and  the  government  of  the  country 
by  force  1 — And,  secondly,  whether  the  prisoner 
has  in  any,  and  in  what  degree,  participated  in 
that  conspiracy  and  rebellion  1 

Gentlemen,  I  do  not  wish  to  undertake  to 
speak  in  the  prophetic  :  but  when  I  consider 
the  vigilance  and  firmness  of  his  majesty's 
government,  the  spirit  and  discipline  of  his 
majesty's  troops,  and  that  armed  valour  and 
loyalty  which,  from  one  end  of  the  country  to 
the  other,  has  raised  itself  for  the  purpose  of 
crushing  domestic  treason,  and,  if  necessary, 
of  meeting  and  repelling  a  foreign  foe,  I  do  not 
think  it  unreasonable  to  indulge  a  sanguinary 
hope,  that  a  continuance  of  the  same  conduct 
upon  the  part  of  government,  and  of  the  same 
exertions  upon  the  part  of  the  people,  will  long 
preserve  the  nation  free,  happy  and  inde- 
pendent. 

Gentlemen,  upon  former  occasions,  persons 
were  brought  to  the  bar  of  this  court,  implica- 
ted in  the  rebellio»i,  in  various,  though  inferior 
degrees.  But  if  I  am  rightly  instructed,  we 
have  now  brought  to  the  bar /of  justice,  not  a 
person  wha  has  been  seduced  by  others,  but  a 
gentleman  to  whom  the  rebellion  may  be  traced 
as  the  origin,  the  life,  and  soul  of  it.  If  I  mis- 
take not,  it  will  appear  that  some  time  oefore 
Christmas  last,  the  prisoner,  who  had  visited 
foreign  countries,  and  who  for  several  months 


93  ^ 

before  had  made  a  continental  tour,  embracing 
France,  returned  to  this  cGuntry,  full  of  those 
mischievous  designs  which  have  been  so  fully 
exposed.  He  came  from  that  country,  in  which 
he  might  well  have  learned  the  necessary  effects 
of  revolution  ;  and  therefore,  if  he  be  guilty  of 
treason,  he  embarked  in  it  with  his  eyes  open, 
and  with  a  previous  knowledge  of  all  its  inevi- 
table consequences. — But,  notwithstanding,  I 
am  instructed  that  he  persevered  in  fomenting 
a  rebellion,  which  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  is  un- 
exampled in  any  country,  ancient  or  modern. 
A  rebellion  which  does  not  complain  of  any  ex- 
isting grievances,  which  does  not  flow  from  any 
immediate  oppression,  and  which  is  not  pretend- 
ed to  have  been  provoked  by  our  mild  and 
gracious  king,  or  by  the  administration  employ- 
ed by  him,  to  execute  his  authority.  No,  gen- 
tlemen, it  is  a  rebellion  which  avows  itself  to 
come,  not  to  remove  any  evil  which  the  people 
feel,  but  to  recal  the  memory  of  grievances, 
wmich,  if  they  ever  existed,  must  have  long 
since  passed  away. 

You  will  recollect,  gentlemen,  that  in  the 
large  proclamation  there  was  a  studied  endeav- 
our to  persuade  a  large  portion  of  the  people 
that  they  had  no  religious  feuds  to  apprehend 
from  the  establishment  cf  a  new  government. 
But  the  manifesto  upon  which  I  am  now  about 
animadverting  has  taken  a  somewhat  different 
course,  and  has  revived  religious  distinctions 
at  the  #very  moment  in  which  it  expresses  Sl 
desire  to  extinguish  them. 

"  Orangemen,  add  not  to  the  catalogue  of 


i 

r 


>  92 

your  follies  and  crimes,  already  have  you  been 
duped  to  the  ruin  of  the  country,  in  the  legisla- 
tive union  with  its  tyrant  ;  attempt  not  an  op- 
position ;  return  from  the  paths  of  delusion  ; 
return  to  the  arms  of  your  countrymen,  who 
will  receive  and  hail  your  repentance.  Country- 
men of  all  descriptions,  let  us  act  with  union 
and  concert;  all  sects.  Catholic,  Protestant, 
Presbyterian,  are  equal  and  indiscriminately 
embraced  in  the  benevolence  of  our  object." 
I  will  not  apply  to  this  passage  all  the  observa- 
tions that  press  upon  my  mind,  because  I  am 
sincerely  desirous  that  one  feeling  and  one 
spirit  should  animate  us  all.  I  cannot  but  la- 
ment that  there  should  be  so  many  sectaries  in 
religion,  but  trust  in  God  there  will  be  found 
amongst  us  but  one  political  faith.  But  this 
manifesto  is  equally  unfortunate  in  every  in- 
stance in  which  it  prescribes  moderation.  At- 
tend to  the  advice  by  which  it  instigates  the 
citizens  of  Dublin:  "In  a  city  each  street  be- 
comes a  defile  and  each  house  a  battery ; 
impede-the  march  of  your  oppressors,  charge 
them  with  the  arms  of  the  brave,  the  pike,  and 
from  the  windows  and  roofs  hurl  stones,  bricks, 
bottles,  and  all  other  convenient  implements, 
on  the  heads  of  the  satellites  of  your  tyrant, 
the  mercenary,  the  sanguinary  soldiery  of  Eng- 
land." 

Having  thus  roused  them,  it  throws  in  a  few 
words  of  composure,  "  repress,  prevent,  and 
discourage  excesses,  pillage,  and  intoxication  ;" 
and  to  ensure  that  calmness  of  mind  which  is 
so  necessary  to  qualify  them  for  the  adoption 


93 

of  this  salutary  advice,  it  desires  tliat  they  will 
"remember  asrainst  whom  they  fia-ht,  their 
oppressors  for  600  years  :  remember  their  mas- 
sacres, their  tortures  ;  remember  your  murder- 
ed friends,  your  burned  houses,  your  violated 
females."  Thus  affecting  to  recommend  mod- 
eration, every  expedient  is  resorted,  to,  which 
could  tend  to  inflame  sanguinary  men  to  the 
commission  of  sanguinary  deeds. 

Gentlemen,  you  must  by  this  time  be  some- 
what anxious  to  know  the  progress  of  the  gene- 
ral, who  escaped  the  memorable  action  which 
was  to  be  fought,  and  the  first  place  in  which 
I  am  enabled  to  introduce  him  to  you,  is  at  the 
house  of  one  Doyle,  wdio  resides  near  the 
Wicklow  mountains.  There  the  general  and 
his  companions  took  refuge,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  following  week  :  they  arrived  there 
at  a  late  hour  ;  the  general  was  still  dressed  in 
his  full  uniform,  with  suitable  lace  and  epaulets, 
and  a  military  cocked  hat,  with  a  conspicuous 
feather.  Two  other  persons  were  also  decora- 
ted in  green  and  gold.  From  thence  they  pro- 
ceeded to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Bagnall,  and  re- 
turned to  the  city  of  Dublin.  What  became  of 
the  other  persons  is  foreign  to  the  present  in- 
quiry, but  we  trace  the  prisoner  from  those 
mountains  to  the  same  house  in  Harold's  Cross, 
in  which  he  formerly  resided,  and  assuming 
the  old  name  of  Hewit ;  he  arrived  there  the 
Saturday  after  the  rebellion. 

Having  remained  a  month  in  this  conceal- 
ment, information  was  had,  and  Major  Sirr,  to 
whose  activity  and   intrepidity   the  loyal   citi- 


94 

7.ens  of  Diiblin  are  under  much  obligation,  did 
confer  an  additional,  and  a  greater  one,  by  the 
zealous  discharge  of  his  duty  on  this  occasion. 
He  canie  by  surprise  on  the  house,  having,  sent 
a  countryman  to  give  a  single  rap,  and  the  door 
being,  opened,  the  Major  rushed  in,  and  caught 
Mrs.  Palmer  and  the  prisoner  sitting  down  to 
dinner;  the  former  withdrew,  and  the  Major 
immediately  asked  the  prisoner  his  name,  and, 
as  if  he  found  a  gratification  in  assuming  a 
variety  of  titles,  he  said  his  name  was  Cunning^' 
ham,  that  he  had  that  day  arrived  in  the  house, 
having  been  upon  a  visit  with  some  friends  in 
the  neighbourhood  ;  the  Major  then  left  him  in 
charge  of  another  person,  and  went  to  inquire 
of  Mrs.  Palmer  concerning  him  ;  she  said  he 
was  a  very  proper  young  man  of  the  name  of 
Hewit,  and  that  he  had  been  in  her  house 
about  a  month :  the  Major  at  this  moment 
heard  a  noise,  and  he  found  that  the  prisoner 
was  endeavouring  to  make  his  escape,  and  hav- 
ing been  struck  with  a  pistol  by  the  person 
who  had  the  custody  of  him,  he  was  by  that 
means  detained  ;  immediately  further  assistance 
was  called  in  from  a  neighbouring  guard-house, 
and  an  additional  sentrj'^  was  put  upon  him. 
The  Major  then  again  proceeded  further  to  in- 
terrogate Mrs.  Palmer,  when  the  prisoner  made 
another  effort,  got  into  the  garden  through  the 
parlour  window,  but  was  at  length  overtaken 
by  the  Major,  who  at  the  peril  of  his  own  life, 
fortunately  secured  him.  When  the  Major 
apologized  for  the  roughness  with  which  he 
vvas  obliged  td  treat  him,  the  prisoner  replied, 
"  lill  is  fair  m  war." 


95 

Gentlemen,  you  have  the  life  of  a  fellow  sub-* 
ject  in  your  hands,  and  by  the  benignity  of  our 
laws,  he  is  presumed  to  be'  an  innocent  man 
until  your  verdict  shall  find  him  guilty. 

If  upon  the  evidence  you  shall  be  so  satisfied 
that  this  man  is  guilty,  you  must  discharge 
your  duty  to  your  king,  your  country,  and 
to  your  God.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  nothing 
shall  appear  sufficient  to  affect  him,  we  shall 
acknowledge  that  we  have  grievously  offended 
him,  and  will  heartly  participate  in  the  common 
joy  that  must  result  from  the  acquittal  of  an 
honest  man. 


EXAMINATION  OF  WITNESSES. 

Joseph  Rawlins,  Esq.  being  sworn,  desposed 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  prisoner,  and  recollected 
having  been  in  his  company  some  time  in  tiie 
month  of  December  last,  when  he  understood 
from  him  that  he  had  been  to  see  his  brother 
/  at  Brussels.  On  his  cross-examination,  the 
witness  said,  that  in  conversations  with  him 
on  the  subject  of  continental  politics,  the  pris- 
oner avowed  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Austrian  Netherlands  execrated  Buonaparte's 
government ;  and  from  the  whole  of  the  prison- 
er's conversation,  the  witness  had  reason  to 
believe,  that  he  highly  condemned  Buonaparte's 
conduct  and  government. 

George  Tyrrel,  an  attorney,  proved  the  ex- 
ecution, in  the  month  of  .lune  last,  of  the  lease 


9b 

of  a  house  in  Bulterfield-lanc,  Rath  fur  nham, 
from  Michael  Frayne  to  the  prisoner,  who  as- 
sumed on  the  o-casion,  the  name  of  Ellis. 
Mr.  Tyrrel  was  one  of  the  subscribing  witnesses 
to  the  lease,  and  a  person  named  Dowdajl  was 
the  other. 

Michael  Frayne,  who  leased  the  above-men- 
tioned house  to  the  prisoner,  proved  also  to  that 
fact,  and  that  he  gave  him  possession  of  it  on 
the  23d  of  xA.pril  preceding — that  the  prisoner 
and  Dowdall  lived  there  in  the  most  seques- 
tered manner,  and  apparently  anxious  of  con- 
cealment. 

John  Fleming,  a  native  of  the  county  Kildare, 
sworn  : — deposed,  that  on  the  23d  of  July,  and 
for  the  year  previous  thereto,  he  had  been  host- 
ler at  White  Bull  Inn,  Thomas  Street,  kept  by 
a  person  named  Dillon.  The  house  was  con- 
venient to  Marshal-lane,  where  the  rebel  depot 
was,  and  to  which  the  witness  had  free  and 
constant  access,  having  been  in  the  confidence 
of  the  conspirators,  and  employed  to  bring 
them  ammunition  and  other  things.  He  saw 
the  persons  there  making  pike-handles,  and 
heading  them  with  the  iron  part ;  he  also  saw 
the  blunderbusses,  firelocks,  and  pistols  in  the 
depot,  and  saw  ball-cartridges  making  there. — 
Here  the  witness  identified  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar,  whom  he  saw  in  the  depot  for  the  first 
time,  on  the  Tuesday  morning  after  tho  explo- 
sion in  Patrick-street — (that  explosion  took 
place  on  Saturday,  the  16th  of  July.)  The 
witness  had  opened  the  gate  of  the  Inn  yard, 
which   opened    into    Marshal-lane,    to    let    out 


07 


Quiorley,  when  he  saw  the  pri^^oripr,  accompani 
cd  by  a  person  of  the  name  of  Palmer  ;  the  lat 
tcr  got  some  sacks  from  the  witness  to  convey 
ammunition  to  the  stores^  and  the  prisoner  went 
into  the  depot,  where  he  continued  almost  con- 
stantly until  the  evening  of  the  23d  July,  di- 
recting the  preparations  for  the  insurrection, 
and  having  the  chief  authority.  He  heard  the 
prisoner  read  a  little  sketch,  as  the  witness 
called  it,  purporting  that  every  officer,  non-com- 
missioned officer  and  private,-  should  have 
eqally  everjr  thing  they  got,  and  have  the  same 
laws  as  in  France.  Beincr  asked  what  it  was 
they  were  to  share,  theprisoner  replied,  "  what 
they  got  when  they  took  Ireland  or  Dublin." 
He  saw  green  uniform  jackets  making  in  the 
depot  by  different  tailors,  one  of  whom  was 
'  named  Colgan.  He  saw  one  uniform  in  par- 
ticular, a  green  coat,  laced  on  the  sleeves 
and  skirts,  &c.  and  gold  epaulets,  like  a 
general's  dress.  He  saw  the  prisoner  take  it 
out  of  a  desk  one  day  and  shew  it  to  all  present 
(here  the  witness  identified  the  desk,  which 
was  in  court,)  he  also  saw  the  prisoner,  at 
different  times,  take  out  papers,  and  put  papers 
back  into  the  desk  ;  there  was  none  other  in 
the  store.  Quigley  used,  also,  sometimes  to 
go  to  the  desk.  On  the  evening  of  the  23d  of 
July,  witness  saw  the  prisoner  dressed  in  the 
uniform  above  described  with  white  waistcoat 
and  pantaloons,  new  boots  and  cocked  hat,  and 
white  feather.  He  had  also  a  sash  on  him,  and 
was  armed  with  a  sword  and  case  of  pistols 
The  prisoner  called  for  a  bior  coat,  but  he  did 
'  9 


^  98 

not  get  it,  to  disi^uise  his  uniform,  as  he  said^ 
until  he  went  to, the  party  that, were  to  attack 
the  castle.  Quigley  and  a  pei'son  named  Stafford 
had  uniforms  like  that  of  Emmet,  but  had  only 
one  epaulet.  Quigley  had  a  white  feather, 
and  Stafford  a  green  one.  Stafford  was  a  ba- 
ker in  Thomas-street.  About  9  o'clock  the 
prisoner  drew  his  sword,  and  called  out  to 
^  come  on,  my  boys  ;"  he  sallied  out  of  the  de- 
pot, accompanied  by  Quigley  and  Stafford,  and 
about  fifty  men,  as  well  as  he  could  judge, 
armed  with  pikes,  blunderbusses,  pistols,  &5c. 
They  entered  Dirty-lane,  and  from  thence  in- 
to Thomas-street.  The  prisoner  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  party.  They  began  to  fire  in 
Dirty-lane,  and  also  when  they  got  into 
Thomas-street.  The  witness  was  also  with 
the  party.  The  prisoner  went  into  the  stores 
by  the  name  of  Ellis.  He  was  considered  by 
all  of  them  as  the  general  and  head  of  the 
business  ;  the  witness  heard  him  called  by  the 
title  of  general.  In  and  out  of  the  depot,  it 
was  said  that  they  were  preparing  to  assist  the 
French  when  they  should  land.  Quigley  went 
into  the  depot  by  the  name  of  Graham. 

Terrence  Colgan,  the  tailor  named  in  the 
foregoing  evidence,  sworn.  Deposed,  that  on 
the  Sunday  previous  to  the  insurrection,  he 
came  to  town  from  Lucan,  where  he  lived,  and 
having  met  with  a  friend,  they  went  to  Dillon's, 
the  White  Bull  Inn,  in  Thomas-street,  and 
drank,  until  the  witness,  overcome  with  liquor, 
fell  asleep,  when  he  was  conveyed  in  this  state, 
of  insensibility  into  the  depot,  in  Marshal-lane, 


99 

and  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  he  was 
set  to  work  making  green  jackets  and  white 
pantaloons.  He  saw  the  prisoner  there,  by 
whose  directions  everything  was  done,  and  who, 
he  understood,  was  the  chief.  He  recollected 
seeing  the  last  witness  frequently  in  the  depot 
while  he  was  there.  He  also  saw  the  prisoner 
often  at  the  desk  writing.  The  witness  corro- 
borated the  general  preparations  of  arms,  am- 
-  munition,  &;c.  for  the  insurrection. 

Patrick  Farrel  sworn.  -Deposed,  that  as  he 
was  passing  through  Marshal-lane,  between  the 
hours  of  nine  and  ten  o'clock  on  the  evening^  oi 
Friday,  the  22d  of  July,  he  stopped  before  the 
malt  stores,  or  depot,  on  hearing  a  noise  there- 
in, which  surprised  him,  as  he  considered  it  a 
waste  house.  Immediately  the  door  opened, 
and  a  man  came  forth,  who  caught  him,  and 
asked  him  what  he  was  doinor  there'?  The 
witness  was  then  brought  into  the  depot,  and 
again  asked  what  brought  him  there,  or  had  he 
ever  been  there  before  1  He  said  he  had  not. 
They  asked  him  if  he  knew  Graham ']  He  re- 
plied he  did  not.  One  of  the  persons  then  said 
the  witness  was  a  spy,  and  called  out  to  "drop 
him  immediately,"  by  which  the  witness  un- 
derstood they  meant  to  shoot  him.  They 
brought  him  up  stairs,  and  after  some  consul- 
tation, they  agreed  to  wait  for  some  person  to 
come  in,  who  would  decide  what  should  be 
done  with  him.  That  person  having  arrived, 
he  asked  the  witness  if  he  knew  Graham  1  He 
replied  that  he  did  not.  A  light  was  brought 
in  at  the  snme  time,   and   the   witness   having 


100 

looked  about,  was  asked  if  he  knew  any  one 
there  1  He  replied  he  knew  Quigley.  He 
was  asked  where  1  He  replied  that  he  knew 
him  five  or  six  3'ears  ago  in  the  College  of 
Maynooth,  as  a  bricklayer  or  mason.  The 
witness  understood  that  Quigley  was  the  peir- 
son  who  went  by  the  name  of  Graham.  Here 
the  witness  identified  the  prisoner  as  the  per- 
son who  canie  in  and  decided  he  should  not  be 
killed,  but  he  should  be  taken  care  of,  and  not 
let  out.  The  witness  was  detained  there  that 
night  and  the  whole  of  the  next  day,  Saturday, 
the  23rd,  and  was  made  to  assist  at  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  work. 

He  assisted  in  taking  boards  off  a  car  j  the 
boards,  he  said,  were  made  into  cases,  and 
pikes  put  into  them.  These  cases  the  witness 
described  as  being  made  of  the  outside  slabs  of 
a  long  beam,  taken  off  about  an  inch  or  more 
thick — four  or  five  inches  at  each  end  of  the 
beam  was  cut  off,  the  slabs  were  nailed  to- 
gether, and  these  pieces  put  in  at  the  ends,  so 
that  it  appeared  like  a  rough  plank  or  beam  of 
timber.  He  saw  several  such  cases  filled  with 
pikes  sent  out.  The  witness  stated  that  on  the 
evening  of  the  23rd,  he  saw  three  men  dressed 
in  green  uniforms,  richly  laced  ;  one  of  whom 
was  the  prisoner,  who  wore  two  gold  epaulets, 
but  the  other  two  only  one  each.  The  prisoner 
had  also  a  cocked  hat,  sword,  and  pistols. 
When  the  witness  was  helping  out  one  of  the 
beams  prepared  for  explosion,  he  contrived  to 
effect  his  escape. 

On  his  cross-examination,  in  which  the   in- 


101 

terrogatories  were  suggested  by  the  prisoner, 
the  only  thing  remarkable  in  the  evidence  of 
the  witness  was,  that  he  heard  a  printed  paper 
read,  part  of  which  was,  that  nineteen  counties 
were  ready  to  rise  at  the  same  time,  to  second 
the  attempt  in  Dublin.  The  witness  also  heard 
them  say,  "  that  they  had  no  idea  as  to  French 
relief,  but  would  make  it  good  themselves." 
In  answer  to  a  question  from  the  Court,  the 
»vitness  said  that  he  orave  information  of  the 
circumstance  deposed  in  his  evidence,  the  next 
morning,  to  Mr.  Ormsby  in  Thomas-street,  to 
whom  he  was  Steward. 

Serjeant  Thomas  Rice  proved  the  Proclama- 
tion of  the  Provisional  Government,  found  in 
the  depot. 

Colonel  Spencer  Thomas  Vassal  being  sworn, 
deposed  that  he  was  field  officer  of  the  day  on 
the  23rd  of  July  j  that  having  gone  to  the  de- 
pot in  Marshal-lane,  he  found  there  several 
small  proclamations  addressed  to  the  citizens 
of  Dublin,  and  which  were  quite  wet.  He  iden- 
tified one  of  them.  The  witness  also  identified 
the  desk  which  the  prisoner  used  in  the  depot. 
Having  remained  about  a  quarter  of  an  liour  in 
the  depot,  he  committed  to  Major  Greeville  the 
care  of  its  contents. 

Questioned  by  the  Court.  The  witness  said 
that  he  visited  the  depot  between  three  and 
four  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  it  having  been 
much  advanced  in  daylight  before  he  was  suf- 
fered to  go  his  rounds. 

Alderman  Frederick  Darley  sworn.  Proved 
having  found  in  the  depot  a  paper  directed  tp 

9* 


102 

^:' Robert  Ellis,  Butterfield."  Also  a  paper  en^ 
titled  a  ^' Treatise  on  the  Art  of  War."  The 
latter  had  been  handed,  at  the  time,  to  Capt, 
Evelyn. 

Captain  Henry  Evelyn  sworn.  Deposed  hav- 
ing been  at  the  rebel  depot  on  the  morning  of 
Sunday,  the  23d  of  July,  to  see  the  things  re- 
moved to  the  barracks,  and  that  he  found  a  pa- 
per there,  which,  being  shewn  to  him,  he  iden- 
tified. This  paper  was  a  manuscript  draft  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  Proclamation  of  the 
Provisional  Government,  altered  and  interlined 
in  a  great  many  places. 

Robert  Lindsay,  a  soldier,  and  Michael  Cle- 
ment Frayne,  quarter-master-sergeant  of  the 
38th  regiment,  proved  the  conveyance  of  the 
desk  (then  in  court)  to  the  barracks  j  and  the 
latter  identified  a  letter  which  he  found  therein. 
The  letter  was  signed,  "  Thomas  Addis  Em- 
met," and  directed  to  "  Mrs.  Emmet,  Miltown, 
Dublin,"  and  began  with,  "  My  dearest  Ro- 
bert."    It  bore  a  foreign  post-mark. 

,  Edward  Wilson,  Esq.  recollected  the  explo- 
sion of  gunpowder  which  took  place  in  Patrick 
street,  previous  to  the  23rd  of  July :  it  took 
place  on  the  16th.  He  went  there  *and  found 
an  apparatus  for  making  gunpowder — was  cer- 
tain that  it  was  gunpowder  exploded.  Proved 
the  existence  of  a  rebellious  insurrection,  as 
did  also  Lieut.  Brady.  The  latter  added,  that 
on  examination  of  the  pikes  which  he  found  in 
Thomas-street;  four  were  stained  with  blood  on 
the  iron  part,  and  on  one  or  two  of  them,  the 
JDlood  (extended  half  way  up  the  handle. 


103 

John  Doyle,  a  farmer,  being  sworn,  deposed 
to  the  following  effect : — That  on  the  morning 
of  the  26th  of  July  last,  about  two  o'clock,  a 
party  of  people  came  to  his  house  at  Bally^ 
mace,  in  the  parish  of  Tallaght,  seven  miles 
from  Dublin.  He  had  been  after  drinking,  and 
was  heavy  asleep  ;  they  came  to  his  bedside, 
and  stirred  and  called  him,  but  he  did  not 
awake  at  ouce ;  when  he  did,  and  looked  up, 
he  lay  closer  than  before  :  they  desired  him  to 
take  some  spirits,  which  he  refused  ;  they  then 
moved  him  to  the  middle  of  the  bed  and  two 
of  them  lay  down,  one  on  each  side  of  him. 
One  of  them  said,  "  You  have  a  French  General 
and  a  French  Colonel  beside  you,  what  you 
never  had  before."  For  some  hours  the  wit- 
ness lay  between  asleep  and  awake.  When  he 
found  his  companions  asleep,  he  stole  out  of 
the  bed,  and  found  in  the  room  some  blunder- 
busses, a  gun,  and  some  pistols.  The  number 
of  blunderbusses  he  believed  were  equal  to  the 
number  of  persons,  who  on  being  collected  at 
breakfast,  amounted  to  fourteen.  Here  he 
identified  the  prisoner  as  one  of  those  who  were 
in  bed  with  him. 

The  witness  then  further  stated  that  the 
prisoner,  on  going  away  in  the  evening,  put  on 
a  coat  with  a  great  deal  of  lace  and  tassels, 
(as  he  expressed  it.)  There  was  another  per- 
son in  a  similar  dress ;  they  wore,  on  their  de- 
parture, great  coats  over  these.  The  party 
left  his  house  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  proceeded  up  the  hill.  The 
next   morning,  .the  witness  found,  under  the 


104^ 

table  on  which  they  breakfasted,  one  of  the 
«mall  printed  proclamations,  which  he  gave  to 
John  Robinson,  the  barony  constable. 

Rose  Bagnal,  residing  at  Ballynascorniey, 
about  a  mile  further  up  the  hill  from  Doyle's, 
proved  that  a  party  of  men,  fifteen  in  number, 
and  whom  she  described  similar  to  that  of  the 
preceding  witness,  came  to  her  house  on  the 
night  of  the  Tuesday  immediately  after  the  in- 
surrection. Three  of  them  wore  green  clothes, 
ornamented  with  something  j'^ellow — she  wa& 
so  frightened  she  coiild  not  distinguish  exactly. 
One  of  them  was  called  a  general.  She  was 
not  enabled  to  identify  any  of  them.  They  left 
her  house  about  9  o'clock  on  the  following 
night. 

John  Robinson,  constable  of  the  barony  of 
Upper  Cross,  corroborated  the  testimony  of  the 
witness  Doyle,  relative  to  the  small  proclama- 
tion, which  he  identified. 

Joseph  Palmer  sworn.  Deposed  that  he  was 
clerk  to  Mr.  Colville,  and  lodged  at  his  mother's 
house,  Harold' s-cross.  He  recollected  the  ap- 
prehension of  the  prisoner,  at  his  mother's 
house,  by  Major  Sirr,  and  that  he  did  lodge 
there  the  preceding  spring,  at  which  time,  and 
wben  he  was  arrested,  he  went  by  the  name  of 
''Hewit.  The  prisoner  came  to  lodge  there  the 
second  time  about  three  weeks  before  this  last 
time,  and  was  habited  in  a  brown  coat,  white 
waistcoat,  white  pantaloons,  Hessian  boots,  and 
a  black  frock.  Those  who  visited  the  prisoner 
-  enquired  for  him  by  the  name  of  Hewit.  At 
tlie  time  he  was  arrested  there  was  a  lable  ob 


-  105 

the  door  of  the  house,  expressive  of  its  inhab- 
itants. It  was  written  by  the  witness,  but  the 
name  of  the  prisoner  was  omitted,  at  his  request 
because  he  said  he  was  afraid  government 
would  take  him  up. 

The  prisoner,  in  different  conversations  with 
the  witness,  exphiined  why  he  feared  to  beta- 
ken up.  He  acknowledged  that  he  had  been 
in  Thomas-street,  on  the  nio-ht  of  the  23d  of 
July,  and  described  the  dress  he  wore  on  that 
occasion,  part  of  which  were  the  w^aistcoat, 
pantaloons,  and  boots  already  mentioned,  and 
particularly  his  coat,  which  he  said  was  a  very 
handsome  uniform.  The  prisoner  had  also  a 
conversation  with  the  witness  about  a  maofazine, 
and  expressed  much  ree:ret  at  the  loss  of  the 
powder  in  the  depot.  The  proclamations  were 
likewise  mentioned  by  the  prisoner,  and  he 
planned  a  mode  of  escape,  in  the  event  of  any 
attempt  to  arrest  him,  by  going  through  the 
parlour  window  into  the  back  house,  and  from 
thence  into  the  fields.  Here  the  witness  was 
shown  a  paper,  found  upon  a  chair  in  the  room 
in  which  the  prisoner  lodged,  and  asked  if  he 
knew  whose  hand-writing  it  was  ]  He  replied 
that  he  did  not  know,  but  was  certain  that  it 
had  not  been  written  by  any  of  his  family,  and 
that  there  was  no  lodger  in  the  house  besides 
tl|e  prisoner. 

The  examination  of  this  witness  being  closed, 
extracts  from  the  proclamation,  (vide  the  At- 
torney General's  statement)  addressed  to  the 
iGitizens  of  Dublin,  were  read. 

Major  Henry  Charles  Sirr,  examined,     De- 


106 

posed  to  the  arrest  of  the  prisoner  as  tcliows  i 
*'  I  went  on  the  25th  of  August,  to  the  house  of 
one  Palmer.  I  had  heard  there  was  a  stransrer 
Iq  the  back  parlour.  I  rode,  accompanied  by  a 
man  on  foot :  I  desired  the  man  to  knock  at  the 
door — he  did,  and  it  was  opened  by  a  girl. 
I  alig^hted,  and  ran  in  directly  to  the  back  par- 
lour— I  saw  the  prisoner  sitting  at  dinner  j  the 
woman  of  the  house  was  there,  and  the  girl 
who  opened  the  door  was  the  daughter  of  the  wo- 
man of  the  house.  I  desired  them  to  withdraw, 
I  asked  the  prisoner  his  name,  he  told  me  his 
name  was  Cunninsfham.  I  crave  him  in  charore 
to  the  man  who  accompanied  me,  and  went  in^ 
to  the  next  room  to  ask  the  woman  and  her 
dausrhter  about  him  ;  thev  told  me  his  name 
was  Hewit  ;  I  went  back  and  asked  him  how 
lonsf  he  had  been  there  \  He  said  he  came  that 
morning.  He  had  attempted  to  escape  before  I 
returned,  for  he  was  bloody  and  the  man  said 
he  knocked  him  down  with  a  pistol.  I  then 
went  to  Mrs.  Palmer,  who  said  he  had  lodged 
there  for  a  month  ;  I  then  judged  he  was  some 
person  of  importance.  When  I  first  went  in, 
there  w^as   a  paper  on  the  chair,*   which   I  put 

*  That  paper  was  as  follows  : 

'•'It  may  appear  strange,  that  a  person  avowing  himr 
self  to  bean  enemy  of  the  present  Government,  and  en- 
gased  in  a  conspiracy  for  its  overthrow,  should  presume 
10  suggest  an  oi^nion  to  that  Government  on  any  part 
of  its  conduct,  or  coald  hope  that  advice  comijig  from 
such  anthority,  might  be  received  with  attention.  The 
writer  of  this,  however,  does  not  mean  to  ofl'er  an  opin- 
ion on  any  point,  on  which  he  must  of  necessity,  feel 
^iflTenih  from  any  ot'  those  whom  he    addresses,  and 


i07 

mto  my    pocket ;    I    then    went    to    the    canal 
bridge  for  a  o^uard,  havingr   desired  them   to  be 

on  which  therefore  his  conduct  might  be  donbted.     Hi« 
Intention  is  to  confine  himself  entirely  to  those  points 
on  which,  however  widely  he    may  differ  from  them  in 
others,  he  has  no  hesitation  in  declaring,  that,  as  a  man, 
he  feels  the  same  interest  with  the  merciful  part,  and  as 
an  Irishman,  with  at  least  the  English  part  of  the  pres- 
ent administration  :  and  at  the  same  time  to  communi- 
cate to  them  in  the  most  precise  terms,  that  line  of  con- 
duct which  he  may  hereafter   be  compelled   to    adopt, 
and  which,  however  painful  it  must,  under  any  circum- 
stances be,  would  become  doubly  so  if  he  was  not  con- 
scious of  having  tried  to  avoid  it  by  the  most  distinct 
notification.     On  the  two  first  of  these  points,  it  is  hot 
the  intention  of  the  undersigned,  for  the  reason  he  has 
already  mentioned,  to  do  more  than  state,  what  govern- 
ment itself  must  acknowledge — that  of  the  present  con- 
spiracy  it   knows   (comparatively    speaking)    nothing. 
That  instead  of  creating  terror  in  its  enemies,  or  confi- 
dence in  its  friends,  it  will  only  serve  by  the  scantiness 
of  its  information,  to  furnish  additional  grounds  of  in- 
vective to  those  who  are  but  too  ready  to  censure  it  for 
a  want  of  intelligence,  which  no  sagacity  could  have  en- 
abled them  to  obtain.     That  if  it  is  not  able  to  terrily 
by  a  display  of  its  discoveries,  it  cannot  hope  to  crusL 
by  the  weight  of  its  punishments.     Is   it  only  now  we 
are  to  learn,  that   entering  into  conspiracy  exposes  ns 
to  be  hanged  ? — Are  the  ecaltered  instances  which  will 
now   be   brought  forward   necessary  to  exemplify  the 
statute  ?     If  the  numerous  and  striking  examples  which 
have  already  preceded,  Avere  insufficient. — if  govern- 
ment  can    neither  by   novelty  of  punishment,  nor  the 
multitude  of  its  victims,  impress  us  with  terror,  can  it 
hope  to  injure  the  body  of  a  conspiracy  so  impenetrably 
woven  as  the  present,  by  cutting  off  a  few  threads  from 
the  end  of  it. 

"That  with  respect  to   the   second  point,  no  system 
however  ft  may  change  the  nature,   can  affect  the   pe- 
riod of  the  contest  that  ]s  to  take  place;  as  to  which  ihr 
exertions  of  United  Irishmen   will  be  guided  only    bj 


108 

in  readiness  as  I  passed ;  I  planted  a  senfry 
over  him,  and  desired  the  non-commissioned 
officer  to  surround  the  house  with  sentries, 
while  I  searched  it ;  I  then  examined  Mrs.  Pal- 
mer, and  took  down  her  account  of  the  prison- 
er, during  which  time  I  heard  a  noise  as  if  an 
escape  was  attempted:  I  instantly  ran  to  the 
back  part  of  the  house,  as  the  most  likely  part 
for  him  to  get  out  at.  I  saw  him  going  off, 
and  ordered  a  sentinel  not  to  fire,  and  then 
pursued  myself;  regardless  of  my  order,  the 
sentinel  snapped,  but  his  musket  did  not  go  off. 
I  overtook  the  prisoner  and  he  said,  "  1  surren- 
der." I  searched  him,  and  found  some  papers 
upon  him. 

"On  the  witness  expressing  concern  at  the 
necessity  of  the  prisoner's  being  treated  so 
roughly,  he  (the  prisoner)  observed,  that  "All 
was  fair  in  war."     The  prisoner,  Avhen  brought 

their  own  opinion  of  the  eligibility  of  the  moment  lor 
effecting  the  emancipation  of  their  country. 

"  That  administration ^' 

The  following  paper  was  found  in  the  depot,  in  Em- 
met's hand- writing  : — 

"  I  have  little  time  to  look  at  the  thousand  difficulties 
which  still  lie  between  me  and  the  completioii  of  my 
wishes  that  those  difficulties  will  likewise  disappear  I 
liave  ardent,  and  I  tru^t,  rational  hopes  ;  but  if  it  is  not 
to  be  the  case,  I  thank  God  for  having  gifted  me  with  a 
sanguine  disposition.  To  that  disposition  I  run  from 
reflection,  and  if  my  hopes  are  without  foundation — if  a 
precipice  is  opening  under  my  leet,  from  which  duty 
will  not  suffer  me  to  run  back,  I  am  grateful  for  that 
sanguine  disposition,  which  leads  me  to  the  brink  and 
throws  me  down,  while  my  eyes  are  still  raised  to  visions 
of  happiness,  that  my  fanc^y  formed  in  the  air.'' 


10^ 

to  the  castle,  acknowledged  that  hia  name  was 
Emmet. 

Here  the  case  closed  on  the  part  of  the 
crown,  and  the  prisoner  having  declined  to  ea- 
ter into  any  defence,  either  by  witnesses  or 
his  counsel,  an  argument  arose  between  Mr. 
McNally  and  Mr.  Plunket,  as  to  the  latter*s 
right  to  reply  to  evidence,  when  no  defence 
had  been  made.  Lord  Norburv  said,  that  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoner  could  not  by  their  si- 
lence preclude  the  crown  from  that  right,  and, 
therefore,  decided  in  favour  of  Mr.  Plunket. 

Mr.  Plunket  then  addressed  the  court  to  a 
considerable  length,  and  spoke  to  evidence  in 
effect,  the  same  as  the  Attorney  General. 

Lord  Norbury  charged  the  Jury,  minutely 
recapitulating  the  whole  of  the  evidence,  and 
explained  the  law. 

The  Jury,  without  leaving  the  box,  pronounc- 
ced  the  Prisoner — Guiky. 

The  judgment  of  the  court  having  been  pray- 
ed upon  the  prisoner,  the  Clerk  of  the  Crown, 
in  the  usual  form,  asked  him  what  he  had  to 
say  why  sentence  of  death  and  execution  should 
not  be  awarded  against  him  according  to  law, 
Mr.  Emmet  addressed  thp  court  as  follows. 

10 


110 


MR,  EMMETS  REPLY. 

Mt  Lords, — I  am  ask^d,  what  have  I  to  say 
why  sentence  of  death  should  not  be  pronounc- 
ed on  me,  according  to  law  1  I  have  nothing 
to  say  that  can  alter  your  predetermination, 
nor  that  it  will  become  me  to  say,  with  any 
view  to  the  mitigation  of  that  sentence  which 
you  are  to  pronounce,  and  I  must  abide  by. 
But  I  have  that  to  say  which  interests  me  more 
than  lifcy  and  which  you  have  laboured  (as  was 
necessarily  your  office  in  the  present  circum- 
stances of  this  oppressed  country)  to  destroy 
— I  have  much  to  say,  why  my  reputaton 
should  be  rescued  from  the  load  of  false  accusa- 
tion and  calumny  which  has  been  heaped  upon 
it.  I  do  not  imagine  that,  seated  where  you 
are,  your  minds  can  be  so  free  from  impurity, 
as  to  receive  the  least  impression  from  what  I 
am  going  to  utter.  I  have  no  hopes  that  I  can 
anchor  my  character  in  the  breasts  of  a  Court 
constituted  and  trammelled  as  this  is.  I  only 
wish,  and  it  is  the  utmost  I  expect,  that  your 
Lordships  may  suffer  it  to  float  down  your 
memories  untainted  by  the  foul  breath  of  pre- 
judice, until  it  finds  some  more  hospitable  har- 
bour to  shelter  it  from  the  storm  by  which  it 
is  at  present  buffeted. 

Were  I  only  to  suffer  death,  after  being 
adjudged  guilty  by  your  tribunal  1  should  bow 
in  silence,  and  meet  the  fate  that  awaits  me 
without  a  murmur;  but  the  sentence  of  the  law 
which    delivers   my  body  to  the   executionerp 


Ill 

will,  through  the,  ministry  of  that  law,   labour 
in  its  own  vindication,  to  consign  my  character 
to  obloquy  ;  for  there  must  be  guilt  somewhere : 
whether  in  the  sentence  of  the  Court  or  in  the 
catastrophe,  posterity  must  determine.     A  man 
in  my  situation,  my  Lords,  has  not  only  to  en- 
counter the  difficulties  of  fortune,  and  the  force 
of  power  over  minds  which  it  has  corrupted  or 
subjugated,  but  the  difficulties  of  established 
prejudice  ;  the  man  dies,  but  his  memory'  lives; 
that  mine  may  not  perish — that  it  may  live  in 
the  respect  of  my  countrymen — I  seize  upon 
this     opportunity    to    vindicate    myself    from 
some   of  the     charges     alleged    against    me. 
When    my    spirit    shall  be  wafted  to  a  more 
friendly  port — when  my  shade  shall  hcive  joined 
the  bands  of  those  martyred  heroes  who  have 
shed  their  blood  on  the  scaffold  and  in  the  field, 
in  defence  of  their  country  and  of  virtue,  this 
is  my  hope — I  wish  that  my  memory  and  name 
may  animate  those  who  survive  me,  while  ^ 
look  down  with  complacency  on  the  destructicn 
of  that  perfidious  government,  which  upholds 
its  dominion  by  blasphemy  of  the  Most  High  j 
which  displays  its  power  over  man  as  over  the 
beasts  of  the  forest  ;  which  sets  man  upon  his 
brother,  and  lifts  his  hand  in  the  name  of  God, 
ao-ainst  the  throat  of  his  fellow,  who  believes  or 
doubts  a  little  more  than  the  Government  stand- 
ard— a  Government  steeled  to  barbarity  b^v  the 
eries  of  the  orphans  and  the  tears  of  the  widows 
rt'hich  it  has  made. 

[^Here  Lord  .N'm-h/nj  interrvpfrjl  Mr.  Emmet 
—  inryivcrfh.if  fhr  w:?)   and    wicked  enthu^ios/s 


J 1 


o 


^ho  felt  as  he'diJ^  were  not  equal  to  the  accom* 
pliskment  of  their  wild  design.^ 

I  appeal  to  the  immaculate  God — I  swear  by 
the  throne  of  Heaven,  before  whicb  I  must 
shortly  appear — by  the  blood  of  the  murdereo 
patriots  who  have  gone  before  me,  that  mv 
conduct  has  been,  through  all  this  peril  and 
through  all  my  purposes,  governed  only  by  the 
convictions  which  I  have  uttered,  and  by  no 
other  view  than  that  of  their  cure,  and  the 
emancipation  of  )py  country  from  the  super  in- 
human oppression  under  which  she  has  so  long 
and  too  patiently  travailed  ;  and  1  confidently 
and  assuredly  hope  that,  wild  and  chimerical 
as  it  may,  appear,  there  is  still  union  and 
strength  in  Ireland  to  accomplish  this  noblest 
enterprize. 

Of  this  I  speak  with  the  confidence  of  inti- 
mate knowledge,  and  with  the  coasolation  that 
appertaining  to  that  confidence.  Think  not,  my 
Lords,  I  say  this  for  the  petty  gratification  of 
'iving  you  a  transitosy  uneasiness  ;  a  man  who 
never  vet  raised  his  voice  to  assert  a  lie,  will 
not  hazard  his  character  with  posterity  by  as^ 
gerting  a  falsehood  on  a  subject  so  important 
to  his  country,  and  on  an  •  occasion  like  this. 
Yes,  my  Lords,  a  man  who  does  not  wish  to 
have  his  epitaph  written  until  his  country  is 
liberated,  will  not  leave  a  weapon  in  the  power 
of  envy,  ncr  a  pretence  to  impeach  the  probity 
which  he  means  to  preserve  even  in  the  gravg 
to  which  tyranny  consigns  him. 
^Hei'e  he  was  again  interrupted  by  the  court. \ 
'  A^ain  I  sav.    that  what   I    Imve   spoken   was 


i  :o 


not  luLeucieu  ior  your  Lordships,  v.  ho&e  situa- 
tion I  commiserate  rather  than  envy — my  ex- 
pressions were  for  my  countrymen — if  there  is 
a  true  Irishmen  present,  let  my  last  words  cheer 
him  in  the  hour  of  affliction. 

[^Here  he  was  again  inteirwpted ;  Lord  JVor- 
bury  said  he  did  not  sit  there  to  hear  treason.^ 

I  have  always  understood  it  to  be  the  duty 
of  a  judge,  when  a  prisoner  has  been  convicted, 
to  pronounce  the  sentence  of  the  law  ;  I  have 
also  understood  that  judges  sometimes  think  it 
their  duty  to  hear  with  patience,  and  to  speak 
with  humanity ;  to  exhort  the  victim  of  the 
laws,  and  to  offer,  with  tender  benignity,  his 
opinion  of  the  motives  by  which  he  was  ac- 
tuated in  the  crime  of  which  he  was  adjudged 
guilty.  That  a  judge  has  thought  it  his  duty 
so  to  have  done,  I  have  no  doubt ;  but  where  is 
the  boasted  freedom  of  your  institutions — where 
is  the  vaunted  impartiality,  clemency,  and  mild- 
ness of  your  courts  of  justice,  if  an  unfortunate 
prisoner,  whom  your  policy,  and  not  your  jus- 
tice, is  about  to  deliver  into  the  hands  of  the 
executioner,  is  not  suffered  to  explain  his  mo- 
tives sincerely  and  truly,  and  to  vindicate  the 
principles  by  which  he  was  actuated. 

My  Lords,  it  may  be  a  part  of  the  system  of 
angry  justice  to  bow  a  man's  mind  by  humili- 
ation to  the  proposed  ignominy  of  the  scaffold 
— but  worse  to  me  than  the  proposed  shame, 
or  the  scaffold's  terrors,  would  be  the  shame  of 
such  foul  and  unfounded  imputations  as  have 
been  laid  against  me  in  this  court.  You,  my 
Lord,  are  a  Judge ;  I  am  the  supposed  culprit , 

10* 


114. 

I  am  a  man ;  you  are  a  man  also ;  by  a  revolu- 
tion of  power,  we  might  change  places,  though 
we  never  could  change  characters.  If  I  stand 
at  the  bar  of  this  court,  and  dare  not  vindicate 
my  character,  what  a  farce  is  your  justice  !  If 
I  stand  at  this  bar,  and  dare  not  vindicate  my 
character,  how  dare  you  calumniate  it  1  Does 
the  sentence  of  death,  which  your  unhallowed 
policy  inflicts  upon  my  body,  also  condemn  my 
tongue  to  silence,  and  my  reputation  to  re- 
proach 1  Your  executioner  may  abridge  the 
period  of  my  existence,  but  whilst  I  exist  I 
shall  not  forbear  to  vindicate  my  character  and 
my  motives  from  your  aspersions  ;  and  as  a 
man,  to  whom  fame  is  dearer  than  life,  I  will 
make  the  last  use  of  that  life  in  doing  justice 
to  that  reputation  which  is  to  live  after  me, 
and  which  is  the  only  legacy  I  can  leave  to 
those  I  honour  and  love,  and  for  whom  I  am 
proud  to  perish.   ^ 

-  "As  men,  my  Lords,  we  must  appear  on  the 
great  day  at  one  common  tribunal  and  it  wiL 
then  remain  for  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts  to 
show  a  collective  universe,  who  was  engaged 
in  the  most  virtuous  actions  or  actuated  by  the 
purest  motive — my  country's  oppressors,  or 

[^Here  he  was  again  interrupted^  and  told  to 
listen  to  the  sentence  of  the  law.'] 

**  My  Lords,  will  a  dying  man  be  denied  the 
legal  privilege  of  exculpating  himself,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  community,  of  an  undeserved  reproach 
thrown  upon  him  during  the  trial,  by  charging 
him  with  ambition,  and  attempting  to  cast 
away,  for  a  paltry  consideration,  the  liberties 


115 

of  his  country  1  Why  did  your  Lordships  in 
suit  me  1  or  rather,  why  insult  justice,  in  de- 
manding of  me  why  sentence  of  death  should 
not  be  pronounced  against  me  1  I  know,  my 
Lord,  that  form  prescribes  that  you  should  ask 
the  question — the  form  also  implies  the  right 
of  answering.  This,  no  doubt,  may  be  dispen- 
sed with,  and  so  might  the  whole  ceremony  of 
the  trial,  since  sentence  was  already  pronoun- 
ced at  the  Castle,  before  your  jury  was  em- 
panelled. Your  Lordships  are  but  the  priests 
of  the  Oracle,  and  I  submit — but  I  insist  on  the 
whole  of  the  forms. 

[^Here  Mi',  Emmet  paused^  and  the  Court  de^ 
sired  him  to  proceed.'\ 

"  I  am  charged  with  being  an  emissary  of 
France.  An  emissary  of  France  !  and  for  what 
end  1  It  is  alleared  that  I  wished  to  sell  the  in- 
dependence  of  my  country !  and  for  what  end  X 
Was  this  the  object  of  my  ambition  1  and  is 
this  the  mode  by  which  a  tribunal  of  justice 
reconciles  contradictions  \  No  !  I  am  no  emis- 
sary ;  and  my  ambition  was  to  hold  a  place 
among  the  deliverers,  of  my  country — not  in 
power,  nor  in  profit,  but  in  the  glory  of  the 
achievement.  Sell  my  country's  independence 
to  France  !  and  for  what  1  Was  it  for  a  changfe 
of  masters  1  No,  but  for  ambition !  O,  my  coun- 
try !  was  it  personal  ambition  that  could  in- 
fluence me  1  Had  it  been  the  soul  of  my  actions, 
could  I  not,  by  my  education  and  fortune — by 
the  rank  and  consideration  of  my  family,  have 
placed  myself  among  the  proudest  of  my  coun- 
try's oppressors  1  My  country  was  my  idol  j  to 


ii6 

it  I  sacrificed  every  selfish — every  endear iiig 
sentiment — and  for  it  I  nov/  ofler  up  my  life. 
O,  God!  No  !  my  Lord  j  I  acted  os  an  Irishman, 
determined  on  delivering  my  country  from  the 
yoke  of  a  foreign  and  unrelenting  tyrann}',  and 
the  more  galling  yoke  of  a  domestic  faction, 
which  is  its  joint  partner  and  perpetrator  in  the 
patricide,  for  the  ignominy  of  existing  with  an 
exterior  of  splendour  and  a  conscious  deprav- 
ity j  it  was  the  wish  of  my  heart  to  extricate 
my  country  from  this  doubly-rivetted  despotism. 
I  wished  to  place  her  independence  beyond 
the  reach  of  any  power  on  earth — I  wished  to 
exalt  her  to  that  proud  station  in  the  world. 

"  Connection  with  France  was,  indeed,  intend- 
ed— but  only  as  far  as  mutual  interest  would 
sanction  or  require.  Were  they  to  assume  any 
authority  inconsistent  with  the  purest  indepen- 
dence, it  wouid  be  the  signal  for  their  destruc- 
tion ;  we  sought  aid,  and  we  sought  it  as  we 
had  assurance  we  should  obtain  it — as  auxili- 
aries in  war,  and  allies  in  peace. 

"  Were  the  French  to  come  as  invaders  or 
enemies,  uninvited  by  the  wishes  of  the  people, 
I  should  oppose  them  to  the  utmost  of  my 
strength.  Yes,  my  countrymen,  I  would  meet 
them  on  the  beach,  with  a  sword  in  one  hand 
and  a  torch  in  the  other  ;  I  would  meet  them 
with  all  the  destructive  fury  of  war,  and  I 
would  animate  my  countrym.en  to  immolate 
them  in  their  boats,  before  they  had  contam- 
inated the  soil  of  my  country.  If  they  suc- 
ceeded in  landing,  and  if  forced  to  retire  before 
superior  discipline,  I  would  dispute  every  inch. 


117 

of  ground,  burn  every  blade  Ox  grass  before* 
ihem,  and  the  last  entrenchment  of  liberty 
should  be  my  grave.  What  I  could  not  do 
myself,  if  I  should  fall,  I  would  leave  as  a  last 
charge  to  my  countrymen  to  accomplish,  be- 
cause I  should  feel  conscious  that  life,  any 
more  than  death,  is  unprofitable  when  a  foreign 
nation  holds  my  country  in  subjection. 

"  But  it  was  not  as  an  enemy  that  the  suc- 
cours of  France  were  to  land.  I  looked,  indeed, 
for  the  assistance  of  France  ;  but  I  wished  to 
prove  to  France  and  to  the  world,  that  Irish- 
men deserved  to  be  assisted  ;  that  they  were 
indignant  at  slavery,  and  ready  to  assert  the 
independence  and  liberty  of  their  country. 

"  1  wished  to  procure  for  my  country  the 
guarentee  which  Washington  procured  for 
America.  To  procure  an  aid  which,  by  its  ex- 
ample, would  be  as  important  as  its  valour — 
disciplined,  gallant,  pregnant  with  science  and 
experience  ;  who  would  preserve  the  good,  and 
polish  the  rough  points  of  our  character  ;  they 
would  come  to  us  as  strangers  and  leave  us  as 
friends,  after  sharing  our  perils  and  elevating 
our  destiny.  These  were  my  objects — not  to 
receive  new  taskmakers,  but  to  expel  old  ty- 
rants ;  these  were  my  views,  and  these  only 
became  Irishmen.  It  was  for  these  ends  I 
sought  aid  from  France,  because  France,  even 
as  an  enemy,  could  not  be  more  implicable  than 
the  enemy  already  in  the  bosom  of  my  country. 

tHere  he  was  interrupted  by  the  Court. "^ 
have  been  charged  with  that  importance 
in  the  efforts  to  emancipate  my  country, 'as  to 


118 

be  considered  the  keystone  of  the  combination 
of  Irishmen,  or  as  your  Lordship  expressed  it, 
'*  the  life  and  blood  of  the  conspiracy."  You 
do  me  honour  over  much  ;  you  have  given  to 
the  subaltern  all  the  credit  of  a  superior. 
There  are  meit  engaged  in  this  conspiracy,  who 
are  not  only  superior  to  me,  but  even  to  your 
own  conceptions  of  yourself  my  Lord,  before  the 
splendour  of  whose  genius  and  virtues  I  should 
oow  with  respectful  deference,  and  who  would 
think  themselves  dishonoured  to  be  called  your 
friend,  and  who  would  not  disgrace  themselves 
by  shaken  your  blood-stained  hand. 

\_Here  he  was  again  interrupted. '\ 

"  What,  my  Lord !  shall  you  tell  me,  on  the 
passage  to  that  scaffold,  v^fhich  that  tyranny 
(of  which  you  are  only  the  intermediary  ex 
ecutioner)  has  erected  for  my  murder,  that  1 
am  accountable  for  all  the  blood  that  has  and 
will  be  shed  in  this  struggle  of  the  oppressed 
against  the  oppressor — shall  you  tell  me  thi§, 
and  shall  I  be  so  very  a  slave  as  not  to  repel  it  1 

"  I  do  not  fear  to  approach  the  Omnipotent 
Judge,  to  answer  for  the  conduct  of  my  whole 
life,  and  am  I  to  be  appalled  and  falsified  by  a 
mere  remnant  of  mortality  here  !  By  you,  too, 
who,  if  ;t  were  possible  to  collect  all  the  inno- 
cent blood  that  you  have  caused  to  be  shed,  in 
your  unhallowed  ministry,  into  one  great  reser- 
voir, your  Lordship  might  swim  in  it. 
[Here  the  Judge  interfered.'] 

"  Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge 
me  with  dishonour  ;  let  no  man  attaint  my  me- 
mory, by  believing  that  I  could  have  engaged  in 


119 

nny  cause  but  of  my  country's  libei'ty  and  in- 
dependence, or  that  I  became  the  pliant  minion 
of  power,  in  the  oppression  or  the  miseries  of 
my  countrymen.  The  proclamation  of  the 
Provisional  Government  speaks  for  our  views ; 
no  inference  can  be  tortured  from  it  to  counte- 
nance barbarity  or  debasment  at  home,  or  sub- 
jection, humiliation,  or  treachery  from  abroad  ; 
I  would  not  have  submitted  to  a  foreign  oppress- 
or for  the  same  reason  that  I  would  resist  the 
present  domestic  oppressor.  In  the  dignity  of 
freedom,  I  would  have  fought  on  the  threshold  of 
my  country,  and  its  enemy  should  only  enter  by 
passing  over  ray  lifeless  corpse.  And  am  I,  wiio 
lived  but  for  my  country,  and  who  have  subjectec 
myself  to  the  dangers  of  the  jealous  and  watch- 
ful oppressor,  and  the  bondage  of  the  grave, 
only  to  give  my  countrymen  their  rights  and 
my  country  her  independence — am  I  to  be 
loaded  with  calumny,  and  not  suffered  to  resent 
or  repel  it  1     No,  God  forbid  ! 

l^Here  Lord  Jf or  bury  told  Mr.  Emmet  that  his 
sentiments  and  language  disgraced  his  family  and 
education,  but  more  particularly  his  father,  Dr. 
Emmet,  who  was  a  man,  if  alive,  that  would  not 
countenance  such  opinions. ~\ 

"  If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  partici- 
pate in  the  concerns  and  cares  of  those  who  are 
dear  to  them  in  this  transitory  life — O  ever 
dear  and  venerated  shade  of  my  departed 
Father,  look  down  with  scrutiny  upon  the  con- 
duct of  your  suffering  son  j  and  see  if  I  have, 
even  for  a  moment,  deviated  from  those  prin- 
eiple*  *»^  morality  and  patriotism  which  it  wa3 


120 

your  care  to  instil  into  my  youthful  mind,  and 
for  which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  life. 

"  My  Lords,  you  are  impatient  for  the  sacri- 
fice — the  blood  which  you  seek  is  not  congeal- 
ed by  the  artifical  terrors  that  surround  your 
victim ;  it  circulates  warmly  and  unruffled 
through  the  channels  which  God  created  for 
nobler  purposes,  but  which  you  are  bent  to  des- 
troy, for  purposes  so  grievous,  that  they  cry  to 
Heaven.  Be  ye  patient !  I  have  but  a  few 
words  more  to  say.  I  am  going  to  my  cold 
and  silent  grave  :  my  lamp  of  life  is  nearly  ex- 
tinguished :  my  race  is  run  :  the  grave  opens  to 
receive  me,  and  I  sink  into  its  bosom  !  I  have 
but  one  request  to  ask  at  my  departure  from 
this  world;  it  is  the  charity  of  its  silence! 
Let  no  man  write  my  epitaph  ;  for  as  "no  man 
who  knows  my  motives  dare  now  vindicate 
them,  let  not  prejudice  or  ignorance  asperse 
them.  Let  them  and  me  repose  in  obscurity 
and  peace,  and  my  tomb  remain  uninscribed, 
until  other  times,  and  other  men,  can  do  justice 
to  my  character.  When  my  country  takes  her 
place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth — then, 
and  not  till  then —  let  ray  epitaph  be  written* 

I  HAVE  DONE 


1-21 

ACCOUNT    OF    THE    LATE 

PLAN  OF  INSURRECTION  IN  DUBLIN, 

AMD    THE    CAUSE    OF    ITS    FAILURE.* 


The  plan  was  comprised  under  three  heads 
— points  of  attack^  points  of  check,  and  lines  of 
defence. 

The  points  of  attack  were  three : — The 
Pigeon  House,  the  Castle,  and  the  Artillery- 
Barracks  at  Island  Bridge. 

The  attack  was  to  begin  with  the  Pigeon 
House,  number  of  men  200.  The  place  of  as- 
sembly, the  Strand,  between  Irishtown  and 
Sandymount.  The  time,  low water.  The  men 
to  divide  into  two  bodies :  one  to  cross  by  a 
sand  bank,  between  the  Pigeon  House  and 
Light  House,  where  they  were  to  mount  the 
wall ;  the  other  to  cross  at  Devonshire  Wharf  j 
both  parties  to  detach  three  men  with  blunder- 
busses, and  three  with  jointed  pikes,-  concealed, 
who  were  to  seize  the  sentries  and  gates  for 
the  rest  to  rush  in.  Anotlier  plan  was  formed 
for  high  water,  by  means  of  pleasure,  or  fish- 
ing boats,  going  out  in  the  morning,  one  by 

•  Annexed  to  the  copy  from  which  the  above  has  been 
transcribed,  is  the  following  memorandum,  in  the  hand- 
writing of  a  gentleman  who  held  a  confidential  situation 
under  the  Irish  government. — "  The  original  of  this  pa. 
per  was  delivered  on  the  morning  just  b-^fore  he  was 
brought  out  to  execution,  in  order  to  be  forwarded  t» 
his  brother,  Thomas  Addis  Emmetj  at  Paris," 

U 


122 

rtne,  and  rctiuning  in  the  evening  to  the  dock 
at  the  Pigeon  House,  where  they  were  to  hind. 
A  rocket  from  this  was  to  be  the  signal  for  the 
other  two,  viz. ; 

The  Castle,   the   number  of  men   200.     The* 
place    of   assembly,    Patrick-street    depot.     A 
house    in   Ship-street   was  expected,  also  one 
near  the  gate.     A  hundred   men    to   be  armed 
with  jointed  pikes  and  blunderbusses,  the  rest 
to   support  them,  and  march  openly  with  long 
pikes.     To  begin   by   the  entrance   of  two-  job 
coaches,  hackney  coachmen,  two  footmen,  and 
,six  persons,   inside,  to   drive   in  at  the  upper 
gate  into  the  yard^    come  out    of  the  coaches, 
turn  back  and  seize  the  guard,  (or  instead   of 
one  of   the  job  coaches,  a  sedan  going  in  at  the 
same   time,  with  two  footmen,   two   chairmen, 
and  one  inside ;)  at  the  same  moment  a  person 
was,  in  case  of  failure,  to  knock  at  Lamprey's 
door,  seize  it  and  let  in  others,  to  come  down 
by  a  scaling  ladder  from  a  window  on  the  top 
of  the  guard-house,   while  attacks  were  made 
at    a    public   house  in  Ship-street,  which  has 
three  windows  commanding  the  guard-house, 
a  gate  in  Stephen-street,  another  at  the  Aungier- 
Street,  end  of  Great  George' s-street,  leading  to 
the  ordnance,   another  at  the  new^  houses  in 
George' s-street,  leading  to  the  riding  yard,  and 
another  over  .a  piece  of  a  brick  wall  near  the 
'  Palace-street    gate.     Scaling    ladders   for    all 
these.     Fire-balls,  if  necessary,  for  the  guard- 
house of  the  upper  gate.    The  Lord  Lieutenant 
and  principal  officers  of  government,  together 
with  the  bulk  of  artillery,  to  be  sent  off  under 


123 

an  escort  to  the  commander  in  Wicklow,  in 
case  of  being  obliged  to  retreat.  I  forgot  to 
mention  that  the  same  was  to  be  done  with  as 

-much  of  the  Pisfeon  House  stores  as  could  be. 
Another  party  with  some  artillery  to  come  into 
town  along  the  quays,  and  take  post  at  Carlisle 
Bridore,  to  act  accordincr  to  circumstances. 

Island  Bridge,  400  men.  Place  of  assembly, 
Quarry-hole  opposite,  and  Burying  ground. — 
Eight  men  with  pistols  and  one  with  a  blunder- 
buss, to  seize  the  sentry  walking  outside,  seize 
the  gates,  some  to  rush  in,  s^ize  the  cannon 
opposite  the  gate,  the  rest  to  mount  on  all  sides 
by  scaling  ladders  ;  on  seizing  this  to  send 
two  cannon  over  the  bridge  facing  the  barrack- 
road.  Another  detachment  to  brinj?  cannon 
down  James's-street,  another  towards  Rath- 
farnham  as  before.  To  each  of  the  flank  points, 
when  carried,  reinforcements  to  be  sent,  with 
horsey,  &c.  to  transport  the  artillery.  Island 
Bridge  only  to  be  maintained ;  a  false  attack 
also  thought  of,  after  the  others  had  been  made 
on  the  rear  of  the  barracks,  and  if  necessary, 
to  burn  the  hay  stores  in  the  rear. 

Three  rockets  to  be  the  signal  that  the  at- 
tack on  any  part  was  made,  and  afterwards  -a 
rocket  of  stars  in  case  of  victory,  a  silent  one 
of  repulse. 

Another  poiilt  of  attack  not  mentioned : 
Cork-street  Barracks ;  if  the  officer  could  sur- 

j)rise  it,  and  set  fire  to  it  j  if  not,  to  take  post 
in  the  house  (I  think  in  Earl-street,  the  street 
at  the  end  of  Cork-street,  leading  to  Newmar- 
jket,  looking  down  the  street  with  musquetry. 


124 

two  bodies  of  plkemen  in  Earl-street,)  to  the 
right  and  left  of  Cork-street,  and  concealed 
from  troops  marching  in  that  street.  Another 
in,  I  think,  Marrowbone-lane,  to  take  them  in 
rear.  Place  of  assembly,  fields  adjacent,  or 
Fenton  fields. 

Points  of  Check. — The  old  Custom-house, 
300  men,  the  gate  to  be  shut  or  stopped  with  a 
load  of  straw,  to  be  previously  in  the  street. — 
The  other  small  gate  to  be  commanded  by 
musquetry,  and  the  bulk  of  the  300  men  to  be 
diiStributcd  in  Parliament-street,  Crane-lane, 
ind  those  streets  falling  into  Essex-street,  in 
order  to  attach  them  if  they  forced  out.  The 
jointed  pikes  and  blunderbusses  lying  under 
great  coats,  rendered  all  these  surprises  unsus- 
pected ;  fire  balls,  if  necessary,  and  a  beam  of 
rockets. 

An  idea  also  was,  if  money  had  been  got,  to 
purchase  RafTerty's  cheese  shop,  opposite  to  it 
to  make  a  depot  and  assembly ;  and  to  mine 
under  and  blow  up  a  part  of  the  Custom-house, 
and  attack  them  in  confusion,  as  also  the  Castle. 
The  miners  would  have  been  got  also  to  mine 
from  a  cellar  into  some  of  the  streets  through 
which  the  army  from  the  barracks  must  march.  - 

The  assembly  was  at  the  Coal-quay. 

Mary-street  barracks,  sixty  men.  A  house- 
painter's  house,  and  one  equally  removed  on 
the  opposite  side,  (No.  36,  I  believe,)  whose 
fire  commands  the  iron  gate  of  the  barracks 
without  being  exposed  to  the  fire  from  it,  to  be 
occupied  by  twenty-four  blunderbusses  ;  the  re- 
mainder, pikemen,  to  remain  near  Cole's-lane 
or  to  be  ready  in  case  of  rushing  out  to  attack 


them.  Assembly,  Cole's-lane  market,  or  elso 
detached  from  Custom-house  body. 

The  corner  house  of  Capel-street,  (it  was 
Killy  Kelley's,)  commanding  in  Ormond-quay, 
and  Dixon,  the  shoemaker's  (or  the  house  be- 
yond it,)  which  open  suddenly  on  the  flank  of 
the  army,  without  being  exposed  to  their  fire, 
to  be  occupied  by  blunderbusses.  Assembly 
detached  from  Custom-house  body. 

Lines  of  Defence. — Beresford-street  has  six 
issues  from  Church-street,  viz:  Coleraine-street, 
King-street,  Stirrup-lane,  Mary's-lane,  Pill-lane, 
and  the  Quay.  These  to  be  chained  in  the  first 
instance  by  a  body  of  chainmen  j  double  chains 
and  padlocks  were  deposited,  and  the  sills  of 
the  doors  marked.  The  blockade  to  be  after- 
wards filled  up  J  that  on  the  Quay  by  bringing 
up  the  coaches  from  the  strand,  and  oversetting 
them,  together  with  the  butchers'  blocks  from 
Ormond-raarket.  The  houses  over  the  chains 
to  be  occupied  with  hand  grenades,  pisiols  and 
stones.  Pikemen  to  parade  in  Beresford-street, 
to  attack  instantly  any  person  that  might  pene- 
trate ;  the  number  200.  Assembly,  Smithfield 
depot,  where  were  800  pikes  for  reinforcements. 
The  object  was  to  force  the  troops  to  march  to- 
wards the  Castle,  by  the  other  side  of  the 
water,  where  the  bulk  of  the  preparations  and 
men  to  receive  them  were. 

Merchant's  Quay.  In  case  the  army,  after 
passing  the  Old  Bridge,  marched  that  way, 
Wogan's  house  and  a  Birmingham  warehouse 
next  to  it  to  be  occupied  with  musquetry,  gre- 
nades, and  stones  ;  also,  the  leather  crane  at 

11* 


126 

Jiiif;  Other  end  of  the  Quay  ;  a  beam  to  be  before 
the  crane,  lying  across  the  Quay,  to  be  fired  at 
the  approach  of  the  enemy's  column.  A  body 
of  pikemen  in  Winetavern-street,  instantly  to 
rush  on  them  in  front  ;  another  body  in  Cook- 
street  to  do  the  same,  five  lanes  opening  on 
their  flank,  and  by  Bride-street  in  their  rear. 
Another  beam  in  Bridge-street,  in  case  of  ta- 
king that  route,  ami  then  the  Cook-street  body 
to  rush  out  instantly  in  front ;  a  beam  in  Dirty- 
lane  ^  main  body  of  pikemen  in  Thomas-street 
to  rush  on  them  instantly  on  firing  the  beam 
The  body  on  the  Quay  to  attack  on  rear;  in 
case  of  repulse,  <^atherine's  Church,  Market 
house,  and  two  houses  adjacent,  that  command 
that  street,  occupied  with  musquetry.  Two 
rocket  batteries  near  the  Market  house,  abeam 
before  it,  body  of  pikemen  in  Swift's-alley,  and 
that  range,  to  rush  on  their  flank,  after  the 
heam  was  fired  through  Thomas-court,  Vicar- 
street,  and  three  other  issues ;  the  corner 
houses  of  these  issues  to  be  occupied  by  stones 
and  grenadestj  the  entire  of  the  other  side  of 
the  street  to  be  occupied  with  stones,  &c.  the 
flank  of  this  side  to  he  protected  by  a  chain  at 
James' s-gate,  and  Guiness^s  drays,  &;c.  the  rear 
of  it  to  he  protexjted  from  >Cook-street,  in  case 
the  officer  there  failed,  by  chains  across  Rains- 
ford-street,  Crilly's-Yard,  Meath-street,  Ash- 
street,  and  Francis-street.  The  Quay  body  to 
co-operate  by  the  issues  before  mentioned,  (at 
the  other  side,)  the  chains  of  which  would  be 
.opened  by  us  immediatelJ^  In  ease  of  further 
I'^pulse,  the  houses  at  the  corner  of  Cutpurse^^ 
row.  co;timandinff  the  lanes  at  each  side  of  the 


127 

Market-house,  the  two  houses  in  High-street, 
commanding  that  open,  and  the  corner  houses 
of  Castle-street,  commanding  Skinner-row,  (now 
^Christ  Church-place)  tO  be  successively  occu- 
pied. In  case  of  a  final  retreat,  the  routes  tc 
be  three :  Cork-street,  to  Templeogue,  New- 
street,  Rathfarnham,  and  Camden-street  depart- 
ment. The  bridges  of  the  Liftey  to  be  covered 
six  feet  deep  with  boards  full  of  long  nails 
bound  down  by  two  iron  bars,  with  spikes 
eighteen  inches  long,  driven  through  them  into 
the  pavement  to  stop  a  column  of  cavalry,  or 
even  infantry. 

The  whole  of  this  plan  was  given  up  by  me 
for  the  want  of  means,  except  the  Castle  and 
lines  of  defence,  for  I  expected  300  Wexford 
men,  400  Kildare  men,  and  200  Wicklow,  all 
of  whom  had  fought  before,  to  begin  the  sur- 
prises at  this  side  of  the  water,  and  by  the  pre- 
parations for  defence,  so  as  to  give  time  for  the 
town  to  assemble.  The  county  of  Dublin  was 
also  to  act  at  the  instant  it  be?an — the  number 
of  Dublin  people  acquainted  with  it  I  under- 
stood to  be  4  or  5,000.  I  expected  2,000  to 
assemble  at  Costigan's  Mills,  the  grand  place 
of  assembly.  The  evening  before,  the  Wick- 
low men  failed,  through  their  officer.  The 
Kildare  men  who  were  to  act,  (particularly 
with  me,)  came  in,  and  at  five  o'clock  went  ofl 
again  from  the  Canal-harbour,  on  a  report  that 
Dublin  would  not  act.  In  Dublin  itself,  it  was 
given  out  by  some  treacherous  or  cowardly  per- 
son, that  it  was  .postponed  till  Wednesday. 
The  time  of  assembly  was  from  six  till  nine,  in 
Btead  of  2,000,  there  was  eighty  men  assembled 


128 

when  we  came  to  the  Market-house  they  were 
diminished  to  eighteen  or  twenty.  The  Wex- 
ford men  did  assemble,  I  believe,  to  the  amount 
promised,  on  the.  Coal-quay  j  but  300  men, 
though  they  might  be  sufficient  to  begin  on  a 
sudden,  were  not  so,  when  government  had 
five  hours'  notice  by  express  from  Kildare. 

Added  to  this,  the  preparations  were,  from 
an  unfortunate  series  of  disappointments  in 
money,  unfinished,  and  scarcely  any  blunder- 
busses bought  up. 

The  man  who  was  to  turn  the  fuzes  and  ram- 
mers for  the  beams  forgot  them,  and  went  off 
to  Kildare  to  bring  men,  and  did  not  return  till 
the  very  day.  The  consequence  was,  that  all 
the  beams  were  not  loaded,  nor  mounted  with 
wheels,  nor  the  train-bags,  of  course,  fastened 
on  to  explode  them. 

From  the  explosion  in  Patrick-street,   I  los 
the  jointed  pikes  which  were  deposited  there  y 
and  the  day  of  action  was  fixed  on  before  this, 
and  could  not  be  changed. 

I  had  no  means  of  making  up  for  their  loss 
but  by  the  hollow  beams  full  of  pikes,  which 
struck  me  three  or  four  days  before  the  23d 
From  the  delays  in  getting  the  materials,  they 
were  not  able  to  set  about  them  till  the  day 
before ;  the  whole  of  that  day  and  the  next, 
which  ought  to  have  been  spent  in  arrangements, 
was  obliged  to  be  employed  in  work.  Even 
this,  from  the  confusion  occasioned  by  men 
crowding  into  the  depot  from  the  country,  was 
almost  impossible. 

The  person  who  had  the  management  of  the 
depot  mixed,  by  accident,  the  slow  matches  that 


V29 

was  prepared,  with  what  was  not,  and  all  our 
labour  went  for  nothing. 

The  fuzes  for  the  grenades  he  had  also  laid 
by  where  he  forgot  them,  and  could  not  find 
them  in  the  crowd. 

The  cramp  irons  could  not  be  got  in  time 
from  the  smiths,  to  whom  we  could  not  com- 
municate the  necessity  of  despatch ;  and  the 
scaling-ladders  were  not  finished  (but  one.) 
Money  came  in  at  five  o'clock,  and  the  trusty 
men  of  the  depot,  who  alone  knew  the  town, 
were  obliged  to  be  sent  out  to  buy  up  blunder- 
busses, for  the  people  refused  to  act  without 
some.  To  change  the  day  was  impossible,  for 
I  expected  the  counties  to  act,  and  feared  to 
lose  the  adv^antage  of  surprise.  The  Kildare 
men  were  coming  in  foi»  three  days  ;  and  after 
that  it  was  impossible  to  draw  back.  Had  I 
another  week  ;  had  I  one  thousand  pounds  ;  had 
I  one  thousand  men,  I  would  have  feared  noth- 
ing. There  was  redundancy  enough  in  any 
one  part  to  have  made  up,  if  complete,  for  de- 
ficiency in  the  rest ;  but  there  was  failure  in 
all — plan,  preparation,  and  m^n. 

I  would  have  given  it  the  respectability  of 
insurrection,  but  I  did  not  uselessly  wish  to  spill 
blood :  I  gave  no  signal  for  the  rest,  and  they 
all  escaped. 

I  arrived  time  enough  in  the  country  to  pre- 
vent that  part  of  it  which  had  already  gone  out 
with  one  of  my  men,  to  disarm  the  neighbour- 
hood from  proceeding.  I  found  that  by  a  mis- 
take of  the  messenger,  Wicklow  would  not 
rise  that  night — J  sent  off  to  prevent  it  from 
doing  so  the  next,  as  it  intended.     It  offered 


130 

-!-■  tise  even  after  the  defeat,  if  1  wished  it, 
i'Ui  I  refused.  Had  it  risen,  Wexford  would 
have  done  the  same.  It  began  to  assemble, 
but  its  leader  kept  it  back  till  he  knew  the  fate 
<rf  Dublin,  in  the  state  Kildare  was  in,  it 
would  have  done  the  same.  I  was  repeatedly 
solicited  by  some  of  those  who  were  with  me 
to  do  so,  but  I  constantly  refused.  The  more 
remote  counties  did  not  rise,  for  Avant  of 
money  to  send  them  the  signal  agreed  on. 

I  know  how  men  without  candour  will  pro- 
nounce on  this  failure,  without  knowing  one  of 
the  oircumstances  that  occasioned  it.  They 
will  consider  only  that  ihey  predicted  h ; 
whether  -its  failure  was  caused  by  chance,  or 
by  any  of  the  grounds  on  which  they  made 
their  prediction,  they  will  not  care — they  will 
make  no  distinction  between  a  prediction  ful- 
filled and  justified — they  will  make  no  compro- 
mise of  errors — they  will  not  recollect  that  they 
predicted  also  that  no  system  could  be  formed 
— that  no  sejcrecy  aor  conli<lence  could  be  re- 
stored— that  no  preparations  could  be  rnade — 
that  no  plan  could  be  arr^anged— that  no  day 
could  be  fixed,  without  being  instantly  known 
at  the  Gastle .;  that  government  only  waited  to 
let  the  conspiracy  ripen,  and  crush  it  at  their 
pleasure  j  and  that  on  these  grounds  only  did 
they  predict  it  miscarriage.  The  very  same 
men  that  after  success  would  have  flattered, 
will  now  calumniate.  The  very  same  men, 
that  would  have  made  an  offering  of  unlimited 
sagacity  at  the  shrine  of  victory,  will  not  now 
he  content  to  take  back  that  portion  that  belongs 
^/  right  to  theiiise)v<»s.   hut   would   violate  the 


m 

winctuary  of  misfortune,  and   strip  her  of  tl>a^ 
covering  fhSl  candour  would  have  left  her. 

R.  E. 

The  following  facts  have  come  to  our  know=' 
ledge,  too  late  to  be  inserted  in  their  proper 
plhce.  But  we  deemed  them  too  interesting  to 
be  altogether  omitted.  Indeed,  every  iiMjident 
of  his  short,  but  virtuous  life,  however  slight, 
cannot  fail  to  impart  some  degree  of  at  least  a 
melancholy  pleasure  to  every  generous  and 
patriotic  bosom. 

''One  day,  previous  t&  hit*  triaf,  ars  the 
governor  was  going  his  rounds,  he  entered 
Emmet's  room  rather  abruptly,  and  observing  a 
remarkable  expression  in  his  countenance,  he 
apologised  for  the  interruption.  He  had  a  fork 
afHxed  to  his  little  deal  table,  and  appended  to 
it  there  was  a  tress  of  hair.  '  You  see,'  said 
he  to  his  keeper,  '  how  innocently  I  have  been 
occupied:  this  little  tress  has  been  longde^r  to 
me,  and  I  am  plaiting  it  to  wear  m  my  bosom 
on  the  day  of  my  execution  '  On  the  day  of 
that  fatal  event,  there  was  found,  sketched  by 
his  own  hand  \\%h  a  pen  and  ink,  upon  that 
very  table,  an  admirable  likeness  of  himself, 
the  head  severed  from  the  body  which  lay  near 
it,  surrounded  by  the  Bcaflbld,  the  axe  and  all 
the  paraphernalia  of  a  high  treason  execution. 
What  a  strange  union  of  tenderness,  enthusiasir. 
and  fortitude,  do  not  the  above  traits  of  charac- 
ter exhibit !  His  fortitude  indeed,  r^v^z  for- 
eook  him  5  on  the  night  previous  to  his  tleath. 
he  slept  as  soundly  as  ever  ^  and  when  the  fdta) 
morninp-  dawned,  he  arose,  knelt  down  and 
prayed,  ordered  some  milk,    .vhic--->   hs  drank, 


132 

wrote  two  letters,  (oae  to  his  brother  in 
America,  and  the  other  to  the  secretary  of 
state,  inclosing  it,)  and  then  desired  the  sheriffs 
to  be  informed  that  he  was  ready.  When  they 
came  to  his  room,  he  said  he  had  two  requests 
to  make :  one,  that  his  arms  might  be  left  as 
loose  as  possible,  which  was  humanely  acceded 
to.  "  I  make  the  other,"  said  he,  "  not  under 
any  idea  that  it  can  be  granted,  but  that  it  may 
be  held  in  remembrance  that  I  have  made  it. 
it  is,  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  die  in  my  green 
uniform."  This,  of  course,  was  not  allowed 
him — and  the  request  seemed  to  have  no  other 
object  than  to  show  that  he  gloried  in  the 
cause  for  which  he  was  to  suffer.  A  remark- 
able example  of  his  power,  both  over  himself 
and  others,  occured  at  this  melancholy  moment. 
He  was  passing  out,  attended  by  the  sheriffs 
and  preceded  by  the  executioner  ;  in  one  of  the 
passages  stood  the  turnkey  who  had  been 
personally  assigned  to  him  during  his  imprison- 
ment :  this  poor  fellow  loved  him  in  his  heart, 
and  the  tears  were  streaming  from  his  eyes  in 
torrents.  Emmet  paused  for  a  moment  j  his 
hands  were  not  at  liberty — he  kissed  his  cheek 
— and  the  man  who  had  been  for  years  the  at- 
tendant of  2L  dungeon,  habituated  to  scenes  of 
horror,  and  hardened  against  their  operation, 
fell  senseless  aX  his  feet.  Before  his  eyes  had 
opened  again  upon  this  world,  those  of  the 
youthful  sufferer  had  closed  forever! 


THE    END. 


DATE  DUE 

1 

JAN  18 

1989        1 

0 

EC  1  0  2t 

02 

v 

•W       1    M    Vlll 

Wa 

APR  2  9 

20Q<» 

. 

CAVUORO 

»RINTeO  IMU.S.A. 

1 


mi 


!i 


.■Hf-}\l 


